


The Creepy Murder in Room 1046

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1930s, Dr Lakshmanan Sathyavagiswaran, Gisle Bang the dentist, a bit of a murder mystery, and many others - Freeform, cameos from the best of the bfu mysteries, enemies to who knows, might get a bit violent here and there, such as DB Cooper, v snazzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: One fugitive. One hitman. One hotel. One murder. So many ways it could play out.And with a snowstorm raging outside, a simple hotel could become a killer's playground very quickly.





	1. The Shadows Of Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Why am I warm in the shadows of Paris,_   
>  _when I know that dawn means goodbye?_   
>  _Have you come to me from another,_   
>  _whose lips you have tried?_   
>  _Do you still belong to another,_   
>  _is that why we hide?"_
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> The actors take to the stage, unwillingly and involuntarily.

_January 2nd, 1939. A dark afternoon._

The man shoved the door open, the snow flurrying in behind him, making his coat billow around him like a cape as he held his hat firm to his head. He stood in the seemingly abandoned foyer, suitcase in hand, snow falling off him in chunks to melt on the slick marble. Well, this wasn't going to plan at all. He was meant to be halfway out of the country by now, not stuck in the same town he'd been battling to get out of since morning. The hotel was a bit on the fancier side, there was no doubt about it. A lavish front hall, a lovely roaring fire, anything that could be made of velvet was made of velvet. But then again, even a shed would've looked beautiful in this blizzard. Throwing a cautious look back out the door, he hurried to the front desk. He tapped the bell once. And again. And again. And again. And-

"Sorry, sir!" A man popped up behind the desk, giving him an apologetic smile. "Trying to get our telephones working. Weather is blowing the reception away!"

"Wow. Sucks." His tone couldn't have made it any clearer that he didn't give a single fuck. "You got any rooms? Just for one night. I'm hoping, anyway. And preferably at the end of a corridor?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. What's the name?"

"Uh, McClintock. Banjo McClintock."

The receptionist gave him a quick look. "Banjo?"

"It's, uh, it's ethnic." He shrugged off his coat, letting his case slip from his hand. "Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got to hide." He paused. "I mean, hit the hay. Ha ha."

The receptionist nodded slowly. "Of course. We'll get your bag delivered to your room now."

"Bag?" He looked down to find that yes, he only had one. Well, fuck. He must've forgotten his other one at the last hotel. "Oh, yes! Bag. Great. Fantastic."

"Alright." The receptionist looked almost wary by now, gesturing at someone in the room behind. "Hey, Propst. Get this bag up to 1047, would you?"

The man turned away, his damp coat draped over his arm as he wandered towards the ever-so-inviting fire he could see flickering in the cavernous lounge to the right. "Any chance of a tea or something? It's cold as Jack Frost's asshole out there."

"Yes, of course. Right away."

He sat on the chair nearest the fire, throwing another quick glance at the door, which was just visible around the door frame of the lounge. Perfect vantage point; he could see new arrivals, but they wouldn't see him straight away. He hadn't noticed anyone following him, but there was always the chance. Always. And he himself had never been the best at staying focused. No, he was a man who was very easily distracted, even as he picked up the newspaper folded on the small side table and started flicking through it. The tea arrived almost instantly, nice and hot and steaming. The first guest arrived minutes later, nice and cold and shivering.

She was tall, with dark hair that stuck to her pale skin like cracks in porcelain. No bags, no luggage at all but for the dripping coat she was hugging around herself. A muttered transaction, and she was gone. He went back to the paper, managing to get through half a page before another guest stumbled in. A man, short and stocky with a round pale face, his dark hair involuntarily styled by the snow in a similar fashion to the woman beforehand. He seemed to demand something, hitting the table, before also being escorted further into the rooms. Well, _someone_ got up on the wrong side of the bed. These rushed entrances had the man by the fire very much on edge.

You see, 'Banjo McClintock' was not who he said he was. Oh, he was multiple people rolled into one, really. It was his job. Which he wasn't exactly good at, he'd come to realize. Or maybe he was _too_ good. There were many reasons your own organization would decide to kill you, right? Really, this man's name was Shane Madej, a very recent ex-spy with a tendency to attract all sorts of attention, which was the exact opposite to what his job recommended. He couldn't help it, really. Trouble just took to him like a pickle to a pond. 

The third entrance was about half an hour later, after the tall man by the fire had almost thawed out completely. And if he hadn't thawed by then, he definitely did now. 

His eyes landed on the newcomer’s face, and well, he didn’t know the song _Hooked On A Feeling_ since it didn’t quite exist yet, but he sure as hell felt it. The guy was, quite frankly, a hot piece of ass. Relatively short, compared to he himself, and with a cute little face that wore a scowl that didn't quite seem to suit it. Shane quickly turned his head away, going back to the paper, lifting it up to hide his troubled expression. Yes, troubled. Because if there was one thing that could ruin a mission, it was a pretty face.

The new arrival made his way to the front desk, with suspiciously little luggage, and a large accumulation of snow on his clothing. He seemed to be in some sort of rush too - why was everyone in such a damn rush? - he had no coat on, his waistcoat and shirt soaked through, his dark hair spraying melted snow as he used a hand to shake it out. The clearly irritated bellboy swept the bag away, not even uttering a ‘hello’, which the newcomer seemed completely okay with. Within minutes, however, he seemed to be having an issue with the receptionist.

“No, I need the phone  _now_. I have an  _extremely_  important call to make and-”

“I’m sorry, but-”

“No, listen to me, I want the phone!” He was leaning over the desk, jabbing a finger at them. "Now."

“Sir, as I _said_ , the weather is making it impossible for any devices of the sort to get a good reception!”

"Fix it then, for God's sake!"

Shane watched the situation unfold over the top of the newspaper, like it was a vaguely interesting show. The newcomer rolled his big eyes as the receptionist hurried off to 'see what he could do’ (i.e. have a cigarette out the side). His gaze promptly landed on Shane himself, relaxing by the fire. Shane moved the paper up slightly to cut through their eye contact. Thankfully, the man didn’t approach him, or scold his blatant nosiness. Only after the sound of receding footsteps did Shane risk looking again; no one but the frazzled receptionist. Thank the Lord.

He counted nine more guests that night, some joining him in the lounge, some positively fleeing to their rooms. He took a mental picture of each, as any good ex-spy would do:

1\. A man of Indian descent, thinning grey hair, carrying both a suitcase and a briefcase. A joiner.

2\. A beautiful young woman with a mane of dark hair, who promptly disappeared. A flee-er.

3\. A man who was, oddly enough, sporting sunglasses, of which Shane approved. Another joiner.

4\. A sharp-faced man who Shane quickly recognized as Eliot Ness. How could he not recognize him? His face had been in all the papers recently since he took down that mob in Chicago, Shane's own hometown. Hm. A valuable friend, or a formidable enemy. Or just a neutral individual. Hm. Ness quickly vanished.

5\. A woman with a large fur coat who must've already checked in, as she paced right past the desk into the sprawling halls. Shane could've blinked and he'd have missed her.

6\. A slimy-looking man, with a rat's mustache and sly eyes, whose neat suit could never have covered up the dirty air he emanated. He joined the group slowly growing in the lounge, taking a seat beside the Indian man.

7\. A young man who was by far the least suspicious of the gathered bunch. He took the chair across from Shane himself, seeming content to just defrost in silence.

8\. A plain-faced man who basically drifted through, like a damn ghost. He was there and he was gone. Just like that. A tad creepy, not that Shane would ever admit it.

The last was a tiny, _tiny_ woman with a big, _big_ entrance. She swanned in, brimmed hat and damp fur scarf and damper fur coat, and with the unmistakable face of Mabel Normand herself. The mutters in the room grew louder as eyes turned to the 'Queen of Comedy' in the flesh, as she checked in with a flourish and allowed her own maid to take away her bags with a flourish and joined the group in the lounge with a flourish. Shane rolled his eyes. _Ugh. Hollywood_.

Yet although none of these people seemed an immediate threat, he still felt on edge. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Or maybe he was absolutely right to be so. Because although the new arrivals ranged broadly in attitudes and age, they all seemed to share one common aspect; they'd arrived in a rush, like someone or something was chasing them. And it wasn't just because of the snow; Shane knew what it was like to be fleeing from someone, and he knew it well. But instead of inquiring, he positively buried his head in his paper, and attempted to stay low. This worked for all of ten minutes.

"Is this seat taken?"

Shane lifted his eyes to look at the man from earlier. For a moment, he simply stared, face blank. The man who had been seated across from him had seemingly vanished, completely unnoticed. _Goddamit, Madej. This is why you're a damn fugitive now_. The Indian man and the rat-looking one seemed to be getting along like a house on fire, chatting away with very knowledgeable gestures as they did so.

"Hello?" The man stood with his hands on his hips, scowling down at him. "An answer would be appreciated, although I'm going to take the seat regardless."

Shane cleared his throat, sinking lower in his chair. "Yeah. It's free. I guess."

"You guess?"

Shane tipped the newspaper forwards slightly so that he could see the man, who was still glaring. "Do I know you or something?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Great. Let's keep it that way." He went back to using the thin pages of the newspaper as a physical barrier between him and those who surrounded him. In his line of work, it was sometimes invaluable to have a stranger's friendship, but it was always unavoidable to have a stranger's enmity. So might as well just try and avoid both, right?

* * *

Roland said he'd be down soon, five minutes after he himself. Really, he wasn't the worst guy to be guarding. It was just that Ryan didn't usually do the guarding. He usually did the total opposite. But one thing had lead to another, and here he was, seated in a very luxurious hotel, in the middle of a raging snowstorm, somewhere in Northern France. It had been pretty easy so far; keep people away from Roland until he got to the airport, and then say tally-ho and return back to being the hitman of a very secretive mob that you are not allowed to know the name of.

But he hadn't met someone positively suspicious until right this moment, apart from maybe the fur-coated woman who'd practically sprinted past him on the corridor. Hotels were meant to be a place of relaxation, weren't they? Not that the atmosphere around the place was exactly relaxing, but Ryan was well used to it. No, the most suspicious person he'd met was the man sitting across from him right now. The tall man sat with his long legs crossed, newspaper held like a barricade between them, despite the fact he stole frequent glances at Ryan, as if waiting for him to leave. Ryan ignored each one, simply watching the fire crackle and hiss, sparks floating up to disappear into the chimney. The glances were glaringly obvious; the man's thick, tousled hair bounced as his head moved up and down to peer over the paper. _What the hell is this shmuck's problem?_ Did he know who he was or something? Ryan turned his head ever so slightly, their gazes meeting for a split second before the two simultaneously glanced away. Fuck, he was definitely up to _something_. Roland appeared in the doorway, Ryan gave a subtle shake of his head. _No, not safe_. Roland got the message, moving back towards the rooms. And the tall man observed every single gesture from behind his paper. 

"Hey." Ryan leaned forwards, tapping the paper like he was knocking on a door. "Hey, pal."

The man let the paper fold forwards, revealing his entire face for the first time. "What?"

He had to try and figure out this guy's deal. "You look familiar." _Might as well go with the old reliable_.

"Mm, no, I don't." He went to flip the paper upright again, Ryan's hand quickly catching it, keeping it pulled down. "Hey, do you mind?"

"You do look familiar." Ryan raised an eyebrow, seeing the other man's face grow very wary indeed. "What's the name?"

"McClintock." 

"First name."

"I don't see why I should tell you."

"Bit suspicious if you don't."

"Suspicious?" The man grinned, an eyebrow arched. A patronizingly amused look. "What's your deal, hm? Or do you usually just interrogate strangers in hotels?"

"My deal?" Ryan paused, holding the man's gaze. The murmured conversations of the others in the room thankfully filled the silence. "The name's Ricky Goldsworth. Stuck here on a business trip. So-"

"A business trip, huh?" The guy folded over his paper, matching Ryan's posture; leaning forwards, elbows resting on knees, in an almost secretive manner. "What business would that be?"

"Private," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I bet it is."

"You sound very skeptical for someone who won't even tell me their first name."

"I'm a very skeptical man in general, I'm afraid." He smiled at him, a smile that made it clear he wanted this entire encounter to end. Soon. "Now how about this. I go back to reading my extremely boring newspaper, and you go back to staring pensively into the fire as if you have more than two brain cells in your head. And the next time you try and get personal information out of me, just... try a bit harder. Goodbye."

Ryan watched in a stunned silence as the man did exactly what he said he would do, the newspaper swiftly propped up again. Still in silence, Ryan took hold of the paper, yanking it from his grip and sending it straight into the fire in one sharp movement. The air stiffened around them. The famous one - Mary? Marie? - spared them a quick look before making herself scarce. No one else appeared to notice, however. The two men by the fire were still deep in their conversation about medical practice. _Ugh. Doctors_. And the man across from him just sat, face unreadable, hands still poised as if holding the paper that was now quickly turning to ash only feet away.

"Well." The man now without newspaper got to his feet, straightening his suit jacket. "Delightful to meet you, Mr Goldsworth. A bit stressful, I'll admit, but... interesting. Seven out of ten."

Ryan sat back in his chair, an elbow propped on the arm, his fingers resting across his mouth as he looked the man up and down with open distaste. "Go on then. Scarper."

"My pleasure." 

Half an hour later, and the lounge was practically emptied but for the three doctors by the fire across the way. Wait, three? Ryan squinted at them. The third had seemingly appeared from thin air. He had an entirely unremarkable face, to be fair. A face you'd easily overlook in a crowd. A face you'd easily overlook if he was the only other person in the room. _Damn it, Bergara. Don't start slipping now_. He decided that perhaps he should check up on Roland. The sound of heels crossing the foyer rang out, the only sound but for the crackling fires and the mutters of the doctors. Ryan got to his feet, hoping this place had an elevator. He and Roland were on the same floor, thankfully, but it was still the tenth one. 

He counted out loud to himself as he moved along the corridor. _1051, 1050, 1049_. Yeah, there he was. 1048. Ryan glanced back down the corridor to make sure no one had followed him from the dining hall; no one. If anyone even got a whiff of who Ryan really was... No, for now, he was Ricky Goldsworth, not Ryan Bergara. Ricky Goldsworth the businessman, on an important business trip, to Business Town.

He had just opened his own door when the sound of metal clicking against metal and irritated muttering behind him made him jump, whipping around to find the source of the noise. Fucking- It was the guy from the lounge. McClintock. He seemed to be having an issue with his door, twisting and turning the outdoor lock, before suddenly turning his head to look at Ryan over his shoulder. For a moment, there was just silence. Ryan stared back, undeterred. If there was one thing Ryan always judged people by, always _had_ _to_ judge people by, it was whether or not he could win in a fight. And although this guy was noticeably taller than him, he didn't look like much of a fighter. Or so he thought.

“Crazy weather, right?” he said casually, wondering if he could just take the guy out now.

McClintock stared at him in silence for a long moment, before finally answering in an almost defensive tone. “Yeah.”

“You having trouble with your door?”

“No.” He went back to the door, by which he was clearly troubled.

“Weird to have locks on the outside of doors, right?”

“Oh my God, what are you, man?” said the guy in exasperation, giving him a wide-eyed glare. “I’m busy.”

“Jesus! Fine.” He opened his own door, throwing a glare back at the man. "You’re lucky I’m in a good mood."

McClintock gave him a narrow-eyed look, the sort you'd give when you just weren't bothered to come up with a response to an insult. Or in this case, a threat.

 _Whatever. Asshole_. Ryan had his own troubles, anyway. Such as the fact that Roland was in the room right next to the only person Ryan considered odd in the entire hotel. Just his luck. Ryan moved back to the door, peering through the peephole just in time to see the door of 1047 quickly close. The room of that tall douche. The room of the stupid smartass son of a- He didn't have much time to think up any other insults before a hand covered the peephole, making him automatically take a quick step back, breath catching in his throat. The door handle gave a sharp jerk. Ryan pushed against it to keep it closed, heart racing in his chest, wondering if he'd have time to grab his gun and get back to the door before whoever it was got in. 

The silence went on for a few minutes. The door stayed still. Ryan risked looking out the peephole again, seeing not a single soul. The door to 1046 was open ever so slightly, a slanting light cutting through into the dark corridor. Roland swiftly peered out, his head whipping side-to-side as he scoured the corridor, before receding into his room just as swiftly. Ryan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Must've just been a wrong room. The movement of the door to 1047 made him stay peeping, McClintock slipping out, glancing both ways as he shut the door behind him. He was still fully dressed, in his smart suit and tie. A lit cigarette hung from his mouth, illuminating his sharp features. After throwing a frown at Ryan's door, he disappeared out of view.

* * *

He'd seen her. He knew it. With her smart clothes and styled hair. Really, he shouldn't have left his room if she was around. But his missing suitcase had been delivered, it appeared, under his old name. Shane made his way quietly down the carpeted stairs, hearing a few pairs of feet stomping around on the staircase a few floors up, running. He checked his watch out of curiosity. Who the hell would be sprinting around a hotel at half eleven at night? He ignored it, deciding to avoid the foyer and go through the cavernous lounge. The various fires were still going strong - who the hell was keeping all these fires topped up? - all but one empty. The three doctors sat around it, talking medical talk. Three? Oh, the creepy guy from earlier had joined the rat-faced one and the Indian man. Shane rolled his eyes as he wove through the scattered chairs and tables; doctors, man. Lame. 

The luggage room was unguarded. Well, why would it be guarded? He slipped in, quickly locating the case, smiling to himself as he unclipped it. Ah, yes. There it was. _Hell yeah, baby_.

“Why are you going through the luggage?”

Shane paused, half-closing the case. "It's not a stranger's. It's mine."

"You said your name was McClintock."

Shane mentally cursed, finally turning his head to scowl at the short silhouette standing in the doorway. “Well what has you going through a stranger’s business, huh? The stranger being me, in case you hadn't grasped that.”

“You’re the one acting strange here, guy.” Goldsworth stepped into the room, the lamps from the hall outside casting one side of his face in a yellow light. "That case says Tinsley. You're not Tinsley."

“Yeah, but how about this?” Still on one knee, he half-turned, a pistol in his hand. He held it level at the man, as casually as you'd hold a fork at dinner. “Any opinions on that, huh?”

The guy didn’t seem exactly intimidated; it was as if he'd been at both ends of a gun, multiple times. “I think that’s pretty rude.”

“What I think is that if you mention to even the damn bellboy that I was in here, I’ll put a bullet right between your teeth.” He straightened up, still aiming the gun steadily at him. “Understand?”

Goldsworth gave him a wary look. “I suppose.”

“Great." He left the case where it was; all he needed was the gun, really. "Now please stop following me, Mr..?”

“Goldsworth.” The man seemed almost irritated, and not by the gun being aimed at him. “Ricky Goldsworth. You’d better remember it next time.”

“Oh?” Shane smirked at him, an openly suggestive gesture. “Why? Will I be needing it later?”

Ricky swiftly reddened at this blatant flirtation, his teeth gritted. “Oh, you might be screaming it, but not in the way that you’re thinking.”

“Ooh, saucy _and_ thrilling. I love it.” Shane edged past, noticing that the shorter man didn't move from the doorway, so that Shane had to turn sideways to get past. He let the barrel of the gun jab into Ricky's ribs as he did so. “Not a peep, yeah?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Appreciated. Toodles!” He sauntered off into the quiet hall, footsteps ringing against the marble as he whistled a nonchalant, jolly tune, slipping the pistol into his belt, covering it with his shirt. But although he appeared carefree, he had one panicked word repeating in his head. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ He had to get out of here, ASAP. He risked a glance back over his shoulder to see Goldsworth standing in the center of the hall, arms folded across his chest, just watching. _Motherfucker_.

How long was this stupid snowstorm going to go on for? 


	2. A Shot In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guests make their moves, some more violently than others.
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> general vibe (and also the entire fic really) inspired by https://youtu.be/Jjq0WDvapow (hence the chapter name)

_January 3rd, 1939. Dark hours of the morning_.

Shane didn't sleep. Not a wink. It was difficult to drift away when footsteps seemed to come from all around. Soft, hurried, brushing against the carpets, clicking on the marble. It could just be the staff, if the staff were being followed by a slightly-threatening individual. He was still fully clothed, but he'd gotten used to sleeping in such a way; espionage, baby. The rusted fire escapes rattled out of time with the wind, the steps silhouetted through the thin curtains. He was ninety percent sure he saw the figure of a thin man hurry up them, his coat whipping wildly in the wind. Or maybe it was just a figment of his imagination. Shane sat upright, sighing heavily. But not too heavily. Someone might hear. 

He moved to the window, pulling over the curtain just a tad, the soft moonlight cutting through the gap like a steel knife through silk. The small courtyard was below, blanketed in thick snow that was piling ever higher. Shane peered at the loose silhouette of someone battling through the drifts, their path quickly being covered up by the blizzard. He could just about make out a flapping robe, which the person was hugging tightly around them. What idiot would voluntarily go out in that weather? The glaring yellow light of a room below sliced across the courtyard as the door was opened, receding just as quickly. Shane frowned, opening the curtain ever wider in an attempt to see if any more guests would decide to go for a midnight stroll. _Crazy people_.

He let the curtain float back into place at the sound of a door opening on his corridor. Ever so quietly, he crept to the door, sneaking a peep out the peephole. The corridor was dimly lit by the oil lamps, so dim he could barely make out the pattern of the wallpaper across the way. The wallpaper between the two doors; 1046 and 1048. One of which was silently clicking back into place, a gloved hand slipping off the handle. Who was in 1046 again? It wasn't Goldsworth, anyway. No, that douche was in 1048, which was thankfully still closed.

A sudden burst of moonlight lit up the carpet, making Shane blink in surprise. Someone must've opened the fire escape door. It closed again, a dull clunk. _Go back to bed, Madej. How many times have you screwed up because of being a nosy fuck?_ Not enough, apparently. He stepped into the dark hall, taking time to slip a coin into the door hinge; if he needed to get back in quickly, he didn't want to have to be fumbling with the locks.

A flurry of footsteps in the corridor above made him pause, looking up as if he'd be able to see right through the floorboards to the people responsible. A door slamming, muttered cursing, a scuffle, another slam. Was everyone in this damn hotel wide awake? Shane checked his watch, moving towards one of the oil lamps in an attempt to read it. Really, what was the point in having oil lamps if they weren't even bright enough to let a man read a watch? 

The footsteps were quiet, but not quiet enough. Shane whipped around, eyes widening as he saw the glint of a blade. He swiftly turned aside to avoid a swipe, turning again to avoid another. Well, _almost_ avoid. It caught him from the edge of his chest across the top of his arm, a long shallow cut that stung like a bitch. He took a step back as his attacker took one forwards, spinning as he did so, slipping off his jacket, all in one fluid movement. The blade came again, but this time Shane was ready. He quickly caught the knife in his jacket, wrapping it, twisting the weapon from the man's grip. The headbutt followed instantly, catching him in the chest, sending him stumbling as he coughed for air. Who the hell headbutts someone in the chest?! He let himself drop to one knee to avoid what would've been a mean right hook, grabbing the leg in front of him and pushing up and forwards, toppling his attacker over onto his back. The guy gave a grunt upon landing, sounding quite familiar indeed.

Goldsworth.

Shane cursed as Goldsworth kept his legs around his arm, rolling over backwards, throwing Shane flat on his back. He felt hands around his wrist, tight. Fucking- He was gonna try and dislocate his damn shoulder, right in the middle of the corridor. Shane twisted his arm in an attempt to get Ricky's grip off him, trying to roll away, feeling the grip only tighten around his wrist. Well, at least the carpet was soft. Might make the ordeal just that tiniest bit kinder.

But before Goldsworth could give Shane's arm the appropriate yank that would've popped bone from socket, a gunshot rang out, and an earsplitting shriek. Alarmingly close. The two men froze in their positions, raising their heads to look at each other, not that either could really make out the other's face. Like someone had put a firecracker up his ass, Ricky abandoned the battle, scrambling to his feet and flying off down the corridor. Shane rolled onto his front, pushing himself to his hands and knees, listening intently. He pressed a hand to the cut, feeling the warm blood. Not too much, but still a nuisance. Footsteps pounded overhead, up the corridor, down the corridor, doors opening and slamming, a cacophony of muffled noises. 

He scooped up the jacket and knife, hurrying back into his room and throwing them aside. He slipped his gun into his belt before heading back out; he'd only look suspicious if he stayed in his room. Such was the general mindset of the guests. 

* * *

It hadn't been Roland, thank fuck. Ryan quickly hurried the guy back to 1046, giving him a stern warning to stay the _fuck_ inside. The guy was shivering, his robe damp around him from the snow. Roland apologized for leaving, but really, that wasn't Ryan's business. The other guests had already begun waking - or pretending they'd been asleep at all - emerging from their rooms to gather in the lounge, where the fires still roared. Ryan joined them, as inconspicuously as he could. It seemed as if everyone else had already been alerted to who had been blasted. The doctors had arrived already, standing to attention, knowing that whoever had been on the receiving end of the gunshot would require their most special medical expertise. The black-haired beauty sat by the fire, looking everywhere but at the doctors, her legs crossed in an almost impatient pose. A young woman with her hair wrapped up in a scarf stood just in the doorway, her trench coat tied tightly around her narrow waist. Really, she couldn't have looked more suspicious if she tried. All she needed was a pair of sunglasses, which the man a few feet from her still wore, for whatever unknown reason. He was talking animatedly to a familiar-looking man, who couldn't have looked more disinterested if he tried. Mabel Normand reeled off lines that sounded like they came straight from the stage; oh my God, who could've done this? How evil! How superbly evil! 

But it was a tall dark-haired woman who stole the show. Esther Pepitone, she introduced herself as. She sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, her mascara running down her cheeks as she cried. She'd found a man - Joseph Mumfre, as the receptionist revealed - in the corridor, where he'd been shot right through the head. She wept as she explained the scene, before turning away, burying her head in the jacket of the young man beside her. A dentist, apparently. Gisle Bang the dentist, being excluded by the three doctors who awaited permission to visit the body. Ryan realized he was smiling at the name before swiftly hiding it, swallowing. 

"My name is Eliot Ness, I'm a safety director from Chicago." The owner of the voice stepped forwards, and Ryan mentally cursed his own bad memory. No wonder the guy looked familiar. He could be major trouble, especially for him. "Mrs Pepitone seems insistent that Mumfre, what was it, killed himself?"

She nodded quickly, wiping away her black tears. "Oh, it was horrid. Right outside my room!"

"Yes. As you've said." He didn't seem entirely convinced, to be quite honest. "There's no real proof for this, however. And people don't tend to shoot themselves through the forehead when committing such an act."

She blinked at him, positively astounded. "Sir, are you attempting to imply something here?"

"No, not yet." He turned back to the group. "But until we can be sure it was a suicide, I'd advise that everyone stay wary. And stay in groups, or pairs, at least."

"What?" The Indian man stepped forwards, almost indignantly. "Why? Are you assuming that this woman killed him?"

"Well, it _may_ be, Mr..?"

"Doctor. Doctor Lakshmanan Sathyavagiswaran."

Ryan heard a stifled snort from behind him, turning to find McClintock himself only a few feet away. He had changed his shirt, it appeared, but a few droplets of blood still speckled his sleeve where Ryan had cut him. He'd seen McClintock leave his room straight after Roland's door had opened (or closed), and had assumed the worst. Maybe he'd been right. Either way, McClintock had shown himself to be fully capable of holding his own, which only added to Ryan's suspicions. Who the hell was this guy? McClintock gave him a smooth smile, and an almost amicable nod. _Cheeky bastard_. Ryan gave him a disapproving scowl in return, turning back to face the rest of the group. Huh, the woman with the headscarf had vanished, it seemed. But okay.

"Let's clear some issues up," continued Eliot Ness, taking the floor beside the still-weeping Esther Pepitone. The lit fireplace behind him provided him with a picturesque, symmetrical backdrop. "I know this may be uncomfortable for some of you, but it's for the best if we introduce ourselves. We may be here for some time, and it'll be a tad safer if we are familiar with each other's names, each other's faces. Yes?"

A silence greeted him. No one moved an inch, although their long shadows flickered in the firelight. 

"No, I don't like that." It was the man with the sunglasses who spoke, stepping forwards, hands on his hips. "I'm a very private man who likes to keep my private business private."

"Your name is DB Cooper and you love airplanes." Eliot Ness' voice was flat. "You told me that only five minutes ago, sir. Multiple times."

"Huh. Touché."

"Right." Ness turned back to the room, an eyebrow raised. "We'll start over here, I guess. It's as good a place to start as any."

The rat-faced man beside Doctor Lakshmanan blinked his beady eyes. "I'm Doctor George Hodel. From San Francisco. On a... spontaneous holiday."

The next doctor blinked his pale eyes, smiling a weak smile. "I'm also a doctor. Jesse Fear. On a vacation from my asylum, in Pennhurst. Which is in Pennsylvania. If anyone cares."

No one did.

The woman by the fire looked as if she very much wished to be overlooked, but she was a tad too pretty for that. She turned her striking eyes to the watching guests, still pointedly ignoring the doctors. "Elizabeth Short. San Fran."

"I'm Doctor Gisle Bang, I'm-"

"You're not a doctor," said George Hodel dryly. "You're a dentist."

"I have the title of doctor because I'm a Doctor of Dental Surgery," said Gisle Bang stiffly, as if he'd been through it many times already. "I mean, really, man? In front of everyone?"

"If it's the truth, it's the truth," shrugged Lakshmanan, Fear having a quiet snicker beside him. 

"Before any of you ask, yes, I am Mabel Normand." She said it as if it was a weight on her shoulders, letting her fox-fur scarf drop to her elbows. "Yes, I know Charlie Chaplin. No, I won't sign autographs." _No use leaving a paper trail_. 

"Moving on," said Ness, turning to look at Ryan. "You are?"

"Ricky Goldsworth." He could feel McClintock staring at him, a feeling he really didn't appreciate. "Businessman. Got stuck here on the way to the airport, like a lot of you, I'd say."

"And I'm Banjo McClintock." The man stepped forwards, offering a hand to Ness, who gingerly took it. "Big fan. From the Windy City myself. Love your work, catchin' them criminals."

At the mention of the word 'criminals', almost everyone present looked at the floor. It made them look a bit daft, really. I mean, what's the point in trying to avoid someone's gaze when no one is looking at you? Ryan let his gaze drift to McClintock to see if the beanpole himself had looked away, but he was already staring at Ryan, eyes narrowed. 

The bellboy, Propst, entered the room with an attitude of a lazy student being forced into the principal's office, making everyone glance up. "The body's in 1147. The elevator stops at the tenth floor, I'm afraid. You'll have to take the stairs then, doctor."

"Doctors," corrected Hodel, the three of them assembling like a medical version of the Avengers. "We'll perform an autopsy once we've collected our tools."

The room was quiet after they'd filed out, shortest to tallest, Hodel to Fear. Ness swiftly followed. It seemed no one wanted to talk, but no one wanted to leave, either. The wind still howled outside, the sound of wet sleet hitting the windows. They could see it through the thin curtains, sliding down the glass in chunks. A maid appeared within minutes, asking if anyone wished for a hot beverage.

"Any chance of something stronger?" asked the woman by the fire, Elizabeth Short, somehow both sarcastic and serious, simultaneously.

"The bar is through there," said the maid flatly, already turning away. "I guess you can help yourself. As an apology for whatever trauma."

Well, a murder's a murder, but a free bar is a free bar, right? And perhaps Ness had been right; they should stay in a group. And so the group of strangers gathered, half in their nightclothes, half fully-clothed, for whatever odd reasons. Ryan noticed that, like himself, McClintock was one of those dressed. His shirt was untucked, his tie not even done up. Like he'd hurried to get down. Hmm. Short took up the role of bartender, as easily as a duck to water. She tended to Pepitone first, exchanging a murmured word, before moving down to Ryan.

"You a bartender?" asked Ryan, as the beer bottle was pushed towards him.

"I dabble," she replied vaguely, before moving off further down the bar, towards the dentist.

He felt a presence beside him, right at his shoulder. He didn't need to guess.

"He said stay in pairs, didn't he?" said McClintock, casually leaning on the bar.

Ryan turned his head to glare up at him. "I don't know. I can't remember."

"I'll remember for you." He sat down across from him, his own beer in hand, long legs stretched out. "I'll be your partner for tonight, I think."

"I don't need a partner."

"Oh, everyone needs a partner every now and then." He rested an elbow on the table, his beer bottle pausing just in front of his mouth. "Especially on a night like tonight. Can get a bit lonely, don't you think?"

"I think I'm fine." Was this guy serious? Unless he didn't know it was Ryan who'd attacked him, which was highly unlikely.

"You sure?" The man was looking at him like he was an only slightly impressive work of art, letting his eyes wander freely over him. "I don't know. I mean, really, there's something about being stuck in a single place with a bunch of strangers for an undetermined amount of time, isn't there? So much could happen."

"Stare any longer and I'll start charging rent."

"Mm, I'll pay."

Ryan flushed, whether from anger or something else, he wasn't quite sure. Because to be honest, the guy was pretty attractive, if you liked tall guys with good hair who were filled to the brim with sass. _If only I wasn't working._

"Are you flirting with me?" asked Ryan in a voice that seemed to be a question and a warning rolled into one.

"Don't make me spell it out for you, Goldsworth."

"You're one cocky son of a bitch, aren't you?"

"I am." He took a slow sip from his beer, not taking his eyes from Ryan's. "Tell me, Ricky Goldsworth. What could possibly have such a pretty face on the run?"

Ryan gave him a flat glare. "I don't run from anything."

"Good to know. But that's not an answer."

"I'd like to be left alone, thanks." He glimpsed Roland slip into the room; funny how a free bar seemed to just attract people like moths to a flame. "Starting now."

"You ever heard of Twenty Questions?"

"Jesus Christ, sir." He glared at McClintock, holding his beer bottle so tightly it was a wonder it didn't shatter in his hand. "Go away."

"I'll start." He pretended to look thoughtful, eyes looking up and to the side in wonder. "Oh, I know. You attacked me about half an hour ago?"

Ryan froze, their eyes locked. "Yeah. I did."

"And what caused you to do such a thing?"

"Nope, my turn." Ryan turned in his seat to face him more directly, McClintock raising a challenging eyebrow as he did so. "What's your real name?"

The man blinked. "Banjo McClintock."

"Bullshit."

"Well what's yours then?"

Ryan paused. "I- Wait, you didn't even answer my question!"

"Sorry if I gave you the impression that I was going to." He leaned forwards, one arm still resting along the bar, his hand nonchalantly toying with the cap from Ryan's bottle. "Come on, 'Goldsworth'. I know a fake backstory when I hear one. You can tell me." He smiled at him, keeping his voice low, almost sultry. "I won't bite. If I like the answer."

Ryan matched his low tone, his own face serious. "If you even try to bite, I'll break your teeth."

"So I'm not going to like the answer?"

"We won't find out, because I'm not answering it."

"So secretive." The man finished his drink, placing it on the bar, giving Short a nod as she whisked it away. "I love secrets. Really adds to the mood, don't you think?"

"You must be in heaven here then," said Ryan coolly, watching the man's face.

McClintock turned his eyes back to meet his, letting his gaze lazily drop to Ryan's mouth and back up again. "Mm. Almost."

Ryan turned away, going back to what was left of his beer. He didn't reply. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was too flustered to. Maybe he should take care of this problem now. He could. He most definitely would.

"Remember." McClintock placed a hand on his arm as he got to his feet. "I'm just across the hall. If you ever need anything."

 _Fuck, this guy is smooth_. But he's also an obstacle. "What if I need something now?"

The man paused in leaving, half-turning to look at him. "Hm?"

"What if I need something now," he repeated more quietly, aware of the muttering guests all watching and observing each other. "A good, hard  _something_."

An amused smile spread across McClintock's face. "Well, look at you."

Ryan got to his feet, giving Roland a quick, meaningful glance as he moved to stand in front of McClintock. _Stay here_. "I'd rather you do a bit more than look."

* * *

 _Fuck, this guy is smooth_. All a bit too sudden, however. Shane searched his eyes, very much thankful for the fact that the other guests still lingered. Goldsworth didn't look like he was armed, but then again, he didn't exactly need to be. Their little encounter in the corridor had proved that. Ricky Goldsworth the businessman sure knew how to fight. Thinking about it, maybe he shouldn't be in a small room alone with this guy.

"You really did a one-eighty on the attitude there, Goldsworth."

"Oh, you're just that charming."

"I'm flattered."

Goldsworth suddenly reached up, grabbing hold of the top of Shane's arm and squeezing, pulling hard at the cut. Shane gave a sharp hiss of pain, trying to get the man's hand off without attracting too much attention to them. He could feel his shirt sticking to the reopened wound as he subtly but swiftly maneuvered Goldsworth back against the bar, seeing Short and Pepitone throw them curious looks from where they were chatting quietly. 

"Let go," said Shane through clenched teeth. Jesus, it stung like twenty papercuts. "Let go, you little jerk."

"I'm just making sure you get the _message_ ," said Goldsworth fiercely, the pressure increasing with the last word, enough to force a quiet curse from Shane's mouth. "Do you get it? Huh? Do you?"

"I fucking get it," said Shane in a strained voice, his eyes squeezed shut. "God dammit, I get it, man! Loud and clear!"

"Good." Goldsworth finally released him, relaxing back against the bar, elbows resting either side. "Don't forget it."

Shane quickly tucked his shirtsleeve in, trying to hide the line of bright red that now stained it. "You son of a bitch. I should-"

"Hey." The sunglasses-clad man slipped up to them, an eyebrow raised. "Quick question. You think if you dropped from an airplane onto a drift of snow, would you survive?"

The two men turned their heads to frown at the rude interruption of the man. Neither replied.

"Why is no one answering me?" Cooper sighed in exasperation, moving onto Short and Pepitone. "Hey ladies, quick question."

Shane turned back to glare down at the shorter man, still holding his stinging arm. "Try that again and I'll blow your fucking head off, got it?"

"With what gun?" Goldsworth gave him a knowing smile. "The one that was in your belt, but is now in mine? Or some other one?"

 _Holy shit_. Shane stared at him for a moment, unblinking. "What _are_ you?"

"Leaving." He stepped around him, seeing that Roland had done what he'd been taught and scarpered at the barest hint of conflict. "Goodnight, 'McClintock'."

Shane watched him leave, both extremely impressed and extremely irritated. Plus, this was _two_ bloodstained shirts he now had. And zero gun. He'd prefer one of each, really. One bloodstained shirt and one gun. Or zero bloodstained shirt and two gun. But oh well.

* * *

Ryan checked his watch as he waited impatiently for the elevator. It was coming up to five in the morning. The receptionist, a Harold Pike, had alerted him to the fact that there would be some sort of apology-brunch from the hotel for any unnecessary stress caused by Joseph Mumfre's apparent 'suicide'. He was debating whether or not to even attend; the people around here were slowly but surely growing stranger and stranger. Mabel Normand kept talking about a 'paper trail'. Cooper wouldn't shut the hell up about how far a man could fall without dying. Short and Pepitone hadn't stopped muttering to each other since meeting in the lounge. And then that McClintock, the mystery man. He sure talked a hell of a lot without ever saying anything. A good trait for what Ryan had begun to assume he was; an assassin sent to kill Roland T. Owen. It was the only thing that could explain his insistence in trying to distract Ryan, in having his room on the same floor. His-

"Going up?"

 _For God's sake_. "Are you fucking serious, dude?"

He hadn't even heard McClintock approach. He just appeared at his shoulder as if from a puff of smoke. "Oh, very much. We are on the same floor, after all."

"Go away."

"You stole something from me. I just want it back."

"I'm keeping it."

"I don't think so."

"Piss off before I lose my patience," said Ryan sharply, the elevator doors sliding open.

"Or what?" The smirk was clear in his voice. "You can't exactly smack me around in front of the guests now, can you?" 

Ryan gave him a dark look. "No. Not unless forced to do so."

"Well what about in here, huh?" McClintock rested one arm against the elevator doors to keep them open, smiling down at him. "Spacious, right? And relatively hidden, for a short amount of time."

"What is this?" asked Ryan suspiciously, looking up at him.

"I'll explain inside." McClintock bundled him into the elevator, hitting the tenth floor with his fist, the button lighting up. "I'm going to make you an offer. Give me my gun, and I'll leave you alone."

"That's a bit contradictory."

"Oh, you got me."

Ryan stayed back against the wall, his hand sliding behind his back for the gun in question. "How about a counter-offer; back the hell up or I'll literally kill you."

"Mm, so tempting." The taller man's eyes flickered down to the hand behind Ryan's back. "Come on, Goldsworth. I'm being nice here."

"You're being a pain in the neck."

" _You're_ being rude."

Ryan gritted his teeth in irritation, letting his arms fall back to his sides as he stepped forwards. "You know what? I was gonna just shoot you, but now I think I'd rather make it a bit more personal."

"Good." McClintock didn't move away, smiling at him. "I like a man who can kick my ass."

The elevator slowed earlier than expected, the two men glancing at the number above the doors. The sixth floor. The doors slid open, revealing the woman with the headscarf from the lounge. She gave them both a stern look as the shutters rattled back to let her in. McClintock had moved away, casually leaning on the bar that jutted out, but at the sight of her he visibly bristled. Ryan straightened up, his gaze darting from one to the other. The woman didn't hit a button. Just stepped in between them, hands in the pockets of her trench coat. The silence was sickening. Ryan swallowed, wishing the elevator would just _go_. He could see that McClintock was anxious, his fingers fidgeting as he stayed against the wall. The woman stared straight ahead, without blinking. Her hand reached out, as if to press a button.

Ryan barely had time to duck before the woman whipped out a knife from her sleeve, slicing towards McClintock. The man jumped out of the way, barging straight into Ryan. The woman lashed out again, the switchblade flashing. McClintock stumbled back against the protesting Ryan, quickly grabbing the shorter man and holding him between himself and the woman.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ryan struggled as McClintock grabbed hold of his wrists, kicking his leg forwards a step, like full-bodied ventriloquism. "McClintock, get the-"

"McClintock?" The woman laughed. "Shane, you idiot. You can use whatever name you want, you're a dead man."

"Shut up, bitch!" He moved Ryan forwards again, striking out at her, yanking him back as the woman came again with the knife. "Work with me, Goldsworth!"

"Fuck off!" Ryan pushed back against the taller man as the blade passed by his throat close enough to leave a small scratch. "Let go of me, you idiot!"

 _Ding!_ The woman kicked out, catching Ryan in the chest, slamming him and Shane back against the elevator wall. _Ding!_ Without hesitation, Shane shoved Ryan right back at her, using him like a human battering ram, although Ryan felt like more of a ping-pong ball. She cursed as she hit the opposite wall. _Ding!_ She took Ryan in a headlock, slashing over him at Shane with the knife again, barely missing, the blade taking a button off his shirt it passed so close. _Ding!_

The doors grated open, revealing the ghostly apparition of Doctor Fear. He gave the three slightly-ruffled people a watery smile. The woman remained on the elevator, hitting the twelfth floor, as casually as if she hadn't just tried to slit two throats, one voluntarily and the other more of an unavoidable side-murder. Shane shoved out past Fear, hurrying down the corridor and vanishing into his room before Ryan could even say anything. The door clicked, signifying it being locked from the inside. Ryan stood outside for a moment, still breathless, wondering if he should just force his way in and straight-up kill the guy. A low cough from behind alerted him to Roland watching from his half-opened door. 

"No spontaneous murders, Bergara," he whispered, glancing down the empty corridor towards the elevator. "You promised. Remember?"

Ryan sighed heavily, giving the door to 1048 one last glare before turning away. "Fine. Fine, okay." 

* * *

_It definitely wasn't a suicide. Firstly, the bullet had gone straight through the front of his skull, a nice clean shot. Secondly, he had scratch marks on the hand in which the gun had been found. Fear had gone down to the lounge to announce the unfortunate 'suicide'. He and Lakshmanan remained in 1147, looming over the body._

_"I still stand by my previous statement," said Lakshmanan quietly, as if there could be someone in the wardrobe listening in. "We should tell the other guests it was a murder."_

_"No, no. That won't work." Hodel slunk over to him, as hushed as he was. "That will make the guests uncomfortable. We don't know how long we'll be here. A collective panic could bring chaos, Doctor."_

_Lakshmanan gave him an uncomfortable look before finally nodding. "If that is what you and Fear wish, then I guess I'll concede."_

_"Thank you. It's for the better." He looked over the body of Joseph Mumfre lying on the stripped-back bed. "It's for the better."_

_It_ was _for the better, Hodel was sure it was. In fact, Hodel knew it was. He had been only a few rooms away when he'd heard the gunshot, the delayed shriek. He'd raced out of her room, not even looking at the still-active scene of the crime as he'd ran for the fire escape. His room was on the ninth floor, there was no possible way he could explain why he was on the eleventh without looking extremely guilty. But he wasn't the only guest up to no good that night. On his way down the slippery metal steps he'd seen what he'd first thought was a thin man, but turned out to be a woman in a headscarf, her trench coat flapping in the wind. They barely acknowledged each other as they passed by like ships in the night, as if it was entirely normal to be slinking around on a hotel fire escape at whatever time in the morning. And far below in the courtyard, two figures obscured by snow, one in a robe, one in a shirt and waistcoat, battling towards the building. At the sudden glare of light from one of the rooms across the way, at the yanking back of curtains, at the curious face of Eliot Ness, Hodel had departed the fire escape a floor early, onto the tenth. There he'd seen a tall thin man bundling up a jacket before vanishing into 1048, his sleeve marked with red._

_Oh, such mischief. Such delightful mischief._

_"We have to stick together here, Lakshmanan." Hodel smiled at him, a look which was meant to be comforting, but came across a bit more unsettling than intended. "Things may take a turn for the worst, and who knows how long we may be in this wretched building."_


	3. I'm The One You're Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I see you looking around the corner,_   
>  _Come on inside, and pull up a chair._   
>  _No need to feel like a stranger,_   
>  _'Cause we're all a little strange here._   
>  _Have you got history that needs erasing?_   
>  _Did you come in just for the beer and the cigarettes?_   
>  _A broken down dream you're tired of chasing?_   
>  _Oh well, I'm just the one to make you forget."_

_January 3rd, 1939. Around half seven in the morning._

It appeared that not everyone had made it back upstairs from the bar.

Normand was slumped back in her chair with her wide-brimmed hat resting over her face as she snored, her hand still cradling a half-empty glass of what appeared to be bourbon. Bang and Cooper were top-to-toe on one of the soft booths, one face down, the other on his back, head lolling off the seat. And yet all three looked as though they'd slept more comfortably than he had.

Ryan carefully picked his way across the dim bar, not because he really cared if he woke the unconscious guests, but because they were generally weird people, and he simply didn't wish to talk to them. He could see the lounge just through the doorway, where the curtains had been drawn back to let the still-grey light in to wash over the plush furniture. It was still snowing heavily, though the wind had thankfully died down for now. Without the howling wind, it seemed almost peaceful. Tranquil. Although Ryan was fully aware that this was nothing but a fleeting disguise provided by the silence. Long may it last. 

The four fireplaces crackled quietly, the wood clearly topped up. Beside the furthest sat the two reclusive figures of Esther Pepitone and Elizabeth Short, their heads together as they mumbled indistinctly. It seemed that they had decided to become some sort of team. Ryan didn't really want to acknowledge it, since it would mean something was definitely bubbling beneath the surface, but there were clear teams beginning to emerge. The three doctors went everywhere together. Normand, Bang and Cooper - who he could hear beginning to awaken - had seemingly bonded over their apparent uselessness. But then there were the loose cannons; Ness, the woman in the headscarf, and McClintock. No, not McClintock. 

Shane. 

Ryan finally stepped into the lounge, seeing that Roland had come down already and was chatting quietly with the maid. God, why wasn't anyone just talking normally? All the whispering and muttering and mumbling was maddening, so much so that he was beginning to hear it even at night, as he lay in his bed, willing himself to just _sleep_. Trying not to attract too much attention to himself, he sat on a chair beneath one of the large, looming windows. From here, he could see everyone who came and went. Unfortunately, they could also see him. 

Ness arrived quite quickly, accepting a steaming cup of coffee from the maid as he did so. There seemed to be only one maid on duty, and two bellboys. Mary Soptic, Harold Pike, and Randolf Propst. They were just as stuck as the guests were, but were understandably ten times more irritated by this fact. Soptic's smile was getting stiffer with every passing minute, Pike was beginning to show himself to have just a bit of an attitude, and Propst was spending most of his time in the bar, smoking and drinking with whoever was present. Being isolated in your place of work was, most obviously, an absolute nightmare.

The silence was swiftly broken as the three guests finally made their way out of the dark bar and into the relatively bright light of the lounge. Normand muttered a curse as she stumbled straight into a side table, her hand batting behind her at Cooper's face to get his sunglasses, Bang swiping her hat to place over his own eyes. The other guests watched them like they were some strange, exotic, and slightly unsettling animals at the zoo. The three picked their way to their chosen seats like they were secret agents trying to avoid lasers, when really they were half-blind and half-drunk hotel guests trying to avoid various pieces of furniture. Ryan watched them in amusement, letting himself smile for the first time since he'd arrived. And just on time to wipe this smile away, Shane made his entrance. He sauntered in as if he owned the entire building, an easy smile on his face as he took the offered coffee from the maid. For once, he didn't join Ryan. Instead, he just let his gaze linger on him for a fraction of a second too long before turning away. Ryan frowned. He felt... puzzled, maybe? A tiny bit hurt? Insulted? Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

"He's a dick, isn't he?"

Ryan jumped a mile in the air, gripping the arms of his chair to keep him down. "What the- What?! What are you doing?"

It was the woman with the headscarf, except without said headscarf. She appeared more glamorous today, in a neat black pantsuit, the shirt tucked in around her narrow waist, a pair of gloves folded in her pocket, her dark hair curled on top of her head in smooth waves. Even her make-up was perfect, deft wings and dark lips. Really, she looked entirely unrecognizable. Ryan was still staring at her, his mouth hanging open.

"Were you hiding behind the curtain?" he asked incredulously.

"That's not important." She sat on the arm of his chair, putting a lit cigarette to her lips. "Whaddya think of that shmuck, huh?"

"I- Why have you changed your voice?"

"Stop asking me questions, for God's sake, man." She used her cigarette to point at the tall figure of Shane across the room, who was looking directly at them over Ness's shoulder, his cup halfway to his mouth. "Him. What's your deal with him."

"My deal?"

"Your deal. How do you know each other?"

"Well... We don't, really. I don't even know his full name. I didn't even know his first name until last night." He turned slightly in his chair to look up at her curiously. "You _are_ the woman who tried to kill me last night, right?"

"Oh, I wasn't trying to kill _you_ , sweetums." She distractedly traced a finger along his jaw, stopping at his chin, her other hand still occupied with the cigarette. "No, I was trying to kill _him_."

Ryan turned his eyes to see that Shane was still staring, a look on his face like someone had just slapped him. Twice. Why did he look so damn insulted?

"You sure seemed mad at him last night," continued the woman coolly as she slipped an arm around Ryan's shoulders, still with that attitude of someone who didn't even notice what they were doing. The smoke from her cigarette curled up into the air like ink in water. "What was up with that, hm? You guys friends?"

Shane was still scowling at them, his coffee seemingly forgotten in his hand. Ryan's eyes widened in alarm as he felt her hand slip up his neck to rest on the side of his face, an almost possessive gesture. And still Shane just stood, frozen with anger, glaring at them. No, wait. Not at _them_. At the woman. 

"Why don't you help me here, honey?" she smiled down at him, turning his head to look up at her. A shark's smile. "We could help each other out. Take care of a common problem."

"Uh..." He turned his head away, her hand slipping off him. "No. Thanks. I'm good."

"Oh. What a pity." She got to her feet, stubbing out her cigarette in the glass ashtray on the table beside her. "I don't usually give second offers, but how about I find you later and we discuss it a bit more, hm?"

She didn't wait for an answer, swanning off across the room with her hands in her pockets, a clear mockery of Shane himself. Ryan remained seated upright for a long moment, a puzzled frown plastered on his face. What the hell just happened? Who _was_ that woman? And why was Shane still looking daggers at her? She slipped out into the foyer as the trio of doctors made their appearance, shortest to tallest, Hodel to Fear. As always. At the sight of them, Pepitone and Short rose as one, heading straight for the exit that led through the bar. Ryan watched all this movement with darting eyes, seeing Roland accept yet another cup of coffee from the maid, who he was still talking to. She gave a small smile as he took it before turning away, scurrying out into the foyer as Harold Pike emerged from the bar. Jesus, what was this? Human chess?

And always the player, Shane casually placed down his still-full coffee, slinking through a small, carved wooden door, by far the most unremarkable door in the room. The sets of double doors leading to the foyer and the dining room respectively seemed to very much want to touch the ceiling, while the one to the bar was designed as if in an old-time saloon, two shutters separating the lounge from the darkness. Ryan got to his feet, trying to appear casual as he edged towards the door Shane had just gone through. He wasn't too sure why he felt like he should follow the guy, but trust your gut, right? The others in the room seemed too distracted by the complimentary breakfast being rolled into the room to notice him. Because yes, someone had croaked, but free food makes up for any trauma caused. Normand, Bang, and Cooper gravitated towards the mimosa jug instantaneously, their eyes bright.

Ryan slowly pushed open the door, slipping through, quietly closing it after him. It was dark, a row of tiny windows along the right wall, letting in very limited, dusty-grey light. He stayed still, listening intently, keeping his breathing as silent as he could. What was this? It was so narrow, he couldn't even put his arms out fully to either side. Some sort of secret room? No, it couldn't be. It went on for too long. The door wasn't exactly hidden, either. He stepped forwards, keeping a hand out for guidance, waiting impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The air was icy cold, breezy. Five seconds of fumbling in the shadows, and his hand landed on a nice, warm surface, feeling a shirt with a missing button.

"I knew you'd follow me, you nosy little-" Shane paused. "It is Bergara, right?"

Ryan almost choked. "How the hell do you know-"

"You know the guy in 1046?" He could hear the smirk on the man's voice, making his fists clench. "The rooms aren't soundproof, Bergara. I heard him say what I'm presuming is your second name. And then something about spontaneous murder?" The smile was still audible. "I hope you didn't have me on your mind at the time."

 _God dammit, Ryan_. He can't know about Roland. Well, he can't know about him and live, anyway. "Well that crazy woman in the elevator called _you_ Shane, so-"

"Don't call me that," said Shane sharply, jabbing a finger into his chest. Well, he thought it would be his chest. It was more his collarbone, but it got the message across. "You don't know what you're messing with here, Bergara."

"How about _you_ don't call _me_ that," replied Ryan just as heatedly, attempting to brush the hand away but sort-of-accidentally giving the taller man a light slap across the face as he did so. "Oops, my bad."

"Why you little-" Shane drew his fist back, cursing as he struck his elbow off the wall. A dull pain shot up to his wrist. "Fucking- _Ouch_ , my funny bone."

"It's actually a nerve."

"Oh my _God_ , you're so annoying."

" _I'm_ annoying?" He stepped forwards, sending Shane stumbling against the wall from the force of the movement. "You used me like a damn puppet in an actual knife fight. I should snap your neck right here."

A thoughtful pause. "I don't think you'd be able to reach."

"Wanna bet?"

"Don't mind if I do." Ryan could feel the heat off the taller man's body as he got closer. The glint of his eyes was just visible in the light, fixed on Ryan's. "You snap my neck, that's that. You _don't_ snap my neck, however, and I get your first name." A small laugh, more of an exhale. "And a kiss."

Ryan snorted, rolling his eyes (not that this was exactly obvious). "Yeah, no deal."

"So you agree? You're too short?"

"I'd take the bet if all I had to do was give you my first name," replied Ryan wryly. "The kiss is a bit too much of a risk, however."

"Mm. Pity." He felt a hand lightly rest on his waist, nonchalantly running down to catch on his belt. "Nothing like being on a first-name basis, I think."

Ryan kept his own hands away, but he didn't exactly stop the taller man from pulling him just a tad closer. "Oh, I know. _Shane_." 

"And so it seems you do have a sense of humor." He could feel Shane's breath on his mouth as he talked. "C'mon, Bergara. Even just a first letter."

Ryan grinned. "Are you trying to seduce me, sir?"

"It depends. Am I doing a better job than that sneaky bitch out there?"

"You _were_ jealous."

"A bit." He kept his hand against the small of Ryan's back, the other resting on his waist, their bodies pressed together. His voice was low, secretive. "Now stop trying to distract me. I still want to know your name."

"Guess."

"And how would that work?"

"It wouldn't. Which is the whole point." He firmly took Shane's hands off him, met with only the slightest resistance. "What is this place?"

"A fire escape, you idiot." The guy sounded pretty disgruntled as he brushed past him, heading back towards the lounge. "What were you hoping for? Some sort of secret passage?"

Ryan stood by himself for a minute, feeling the chilly air from outside breezing over him. "Well, yeah. I guess."

* * *

Bergara must be in with the Woman. It was the only thing that made sense to him right now. They muttered together, she hadn't stabbed the guy in the elevator, and Bergara was being just a tad too uncooperative than necessary. But then again, if that was true, why hadn't Bergara just put a knife through his ribs in the fire escape? His thoughts were spinning around his head, he could feel a headache coming on. Shane almost downed his coffee, practically dumping the cup and saucer down on the nearest table. The loud 'clink' made everyone jump a foot in the air, eyes darting to each other, turning in their chairs to see who or what caused the noise. It was as if someone had screamed. The doctors receded into their high-backed armchairs as one. Ness visibly deflated as he saw it had just been Shane. Everyone was on edge, but why? Shane kept his head low as he headed towards the foyer, the murmured conversations picking up again as he did so.

"Did you see my watch?"

Cooper lifted his head up like it weighed a ton and a half, his sunglasses slanted on his face. "Huh?"

"My watch." Normand checked her pockets, before taking her hat off Bang's face and checking in there too. "I had a lovely Rolex. It was only on my wrist two minutes ago!"

"You must've lost it. Could be in the bar." Bang covered his eyes with his hand as he sat upright. "God, I'm never drinking again."

"Hopefully it'll just turn up," she said, half to herself. "Or I could just use one of my ten other ones back in LA!" She let out a loud laugh, quietening once she saw that these two men wouldn't really understand the humor of the ridiculously wealthy. "Hm. Tough crowd." 

 _You can say that again_. Shane moved out into the foyer, giving it a quick once-over to make sure no figures lurked behind the draping velvet curtains. It was seemingly empty but for Harold Pike sitting behind the desk, as if anyone could even come or go in this weather. He had a clarinet in his hands, and was meticulously cleaning it, like it was a priceless ornament. It probably wasn't half as expensive as the shiny silver cuff links on his shirt sleeves.

"Hey. Hey, pal." Shane leaned on the counter, throwing a subtle glance over his shoulder at the doors to the lounge. "I require some assistance in a very private matter."

Pike looked up from his clarinet, eyebrows raised. "Of course, Mister McClintock. What can I do to help?"

"Woman. About this tall. Brown eyes, brown hair, likes to experiment when it comes to style."

Pike stared at him. "And what would you like to know about this woman?"

"Her name."

"I'm afraid that's against the rules, Mister McClintock. I can't be giving out any guest's personal information."

Shane let his hand slide over the smooth wooden surface of the desk, lifting his fingers to show the $20 bill. "How about now, hm?"

For a moment, Pike looked as if he was about to refuse. Then his hand flashed out, the money disappearing into his waistcoat pocket. "Norris."

"First name?"

"Oh, you wanted both names?" Pike made a face. "Mm, that's pushing it a bit."

What the hell was with everyone and first names recently? "I'm not giving you more money, pal."

"You know, I'm beginning to doubt if it even was Norris," said the receptionist slowly, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the desk, frowning in mock-thought. "It could've been anything, really. Maybe-"

"Stop messing me around. I gave you twenty dollars, man."

"Which is the set price for a second name."

"Gimme that." Shane leaned over the desk, swiping at the record book. Pike poked him back with the clarinet like it was a fencing sword, Shane flinching as it came dangerously close to his face. "Stop it. Stop it, asshole." He suddenly lashed out, snatching the hat right off Pike's head and flinging it down the foyer like it was a Frisbee. He turned back with a flourish, adjusting his suit, keeping his head high. "Good day, sir."

Ignoring Pike's mutters, he crossed the foyer back towards the lounge, which was the only place of refuge, really. The corridors were a tad too shady for his liking, and he was now extremely wary of the elevator. Because yes, he knew who 'Norris' was. Not from meeting her, but from reputation. She was an assassin, and she had clearly been following him for the past few days with all her stupid disguises. But she wasn't just an average assassin. No, she was a government-issued one, which meant that looking to Eliot Ness for aid would now not only be futile, but probably just gain him another enemy. For all he knew, Ness already _was_ another enemy. Shane sighed heavily as he gazed around the lounge, a constantly cosy yet uncomfortable room. Ness sat by the fire closest to him, a book in hand, a cigarette in mouth. Better just avoid that one, then. The three idiots, or the Miscellaneous, as Shane had dubbed them, took up another fire. The doctors huddled around the one behind him, a lit pipe hanging from Lakshmanan's mouth as they talked quietly. 

"No, they were on me, I'm certain."

"You must've left them in 1147," drawled Hodel, not looking away from the fire.

"With the body? No, never."

"Were they expensive?" Fear's voice was weedy, his hands clasped over his stomach as he lay back in the armchair. 

"Oh, quite."

Shane wandered towards the furthest fire, near the only set of doors he hadn't tried yet. One of the doors was open ever so slightly, a dining room visible, sprinkled with white-clothed tables. The edge of a raised stage was visible, and an accompanying piano. But it wasn't what he was seeing that interested him. It was what he was hearing.

"You have to stay in there."

"What? Why? What's happened?"

"There's something off. About more than just the person I already mentioned." It was Bergara, his voice low, hushed. "Just stay in your room, or stay in the lounge. The foyer's only okay if that receptionist is there. And just... don't take the elevator, okay?"

Shane kept his ear near the gap, sneaking a sidelong look at the other guests to make sure no one was watching his blatant eavesdropping. 

"But why? Has something happened?" It was the guy from 1046, it had to be. 

"No. I don't know. But something's gonna happen. I can feel it."

"We can just call the Don. He could have us out of here in minutes."

The Don? Shane moved closer to the gap, brows furrowed.

"The stupid phones have been down since yesterday. The weather's messed up the reception, and..."

Shane's first warning should've been the sudden lull in conversation. Instead, he moved even closer, thinking they'd started whispering. His second warning should've been the quick clicking of a door closing. He glanced over his shoulder, double-checking to make sure the other guests were occupied with their own leisurely activities. So when the hand extended from the gap, he didn't even see it coming. 

Bergara grabbed him by the tie, yanking him into the room like a dog on a leash, with enough force to throw him to the carpeted floor. Shane scrambled backwards against one of the wooden chairs, his eyes widening at the pistol being aimed right at him. The gun clicked.

"You gonna shoot me here?" Shane raised an eyebrow, trying to hide just how downright terrified he was. "Bit daring, Bergara. The rest of them will be in here in seconds."

The man narrowed his eyes at him, his grip on the gun white-knuckled. "It'll be worth it, I think."

"Don't be an idiot." He rested an elbow back on the chair, slowly getting to one knee, his other hand out as if to subdue a rabid animal. "C'mon. Put the gun down."

"I don't want to."

"No, you want to put a bullet through my head."

"Multiple. Multiple bullets."

"The feeling's mutual, pal."

Bergara watched him get to his feet, not lowering the weapon. "Why were you listening in, huh?"

Shane smiled at him, a gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're just so intriguing. I can't help it."

"Answer the damn question, guy."

"Or what?"

The shorter man didn't break eye contact as Shane stepped forwards so that the barrel of the gun was bare inches from his face. "You don't want to know."

"Oh, I do." The taller man bit back a grin, as if the pistol didn't even exist. "I have a feeling the answer would be _very_ interesting."

"You won't like the answer."

"Maybe I won't. Maybe I will." Shane used a single finger to push the barrel of the gun aside, looking down at him from under heavy lids. "Sometimes that's half the thrill, isn't it?"

Bergara stared up at him for a long moment, letting the gun fall to his side. His face was still, as if carved from stone. Shane raised an eyebrow; he didn't like the silence. Silence meant he couldn't talk his way out of whatever was about to happen.

With a flurry of movement, Bergara flipped the gun in his hand so that he was holding it by the barrel, swinging at Shane's head. The taller man ducked aside, grabbing hold of the arm and neatly spinning him, hooking a leg around his to cause the shorter man to fall flat on his back on the table behind them. It was as if Shane had dipped him in a dance, except ten times harder, and directly onto a wooden desk. Bergara went to try and right himself, Shane shoving an arm under the man's chin, pinning him down against the white cloth.

"Who were you talking to?" demanded Shane, keeping the hand with the gun down against the table. "Who is he? Where'd he go?"

"Fuck you!" The shorter man shoved at Shane with his free hand, gritting his teeth as his back was forced into an awkward angle against the edge of the table. "I'm not telling you shit!"

"You're so _mysterious,_ aren't you." Shane kept his face inches from Bergara's, looking down his nose at him, almost a look of abhorrence. "Look, I didn't mind at the beginning, but even I have limits. No matter how pretty the mystery in question."

"And why do you want to know so much about me, huh?" The man's voice was a tad strained from the arm pressed against his throat. "It's not my fault that you've taken such an _interest_ in me. I didn't ask for it."

" _You're_ the one who attacked me in the hall, if I remember correctly." Shane pushed forwards as he felt Bergara struggle furiously under him, the table moving slightly with the force of the movement. He heard the man let out a sharp breath, felt it against his face. "Don't make this worse for yourself, pal. I've been nice so far, and you won't like me when I'm nasty."

"Oh, won't I?" A small smile flickered across Bergara's face. "I got a bit of a different impression."

"Mm, a mistake on my part."

"A mistake?"

"Maybe not a mistake." Shane let his face drift just that bit closer to the shorter man's as he spoke. Slowly, he slid his hand up to intertwine his fingers with Bergara's, the gun slipping onto the table as it was replaced. He could feel the smooth linen cloth under his fingertips. "But definitely a risk."

"Good." He let his head rest back against the table, not taking his eyes from Shane's. The arm wasn't even pressing into his throat anymore, it was simply resting over it, the elbow propping Shane up. "There's no fun without a bit of risk, right?"

"No." Shane swallowed, letting his gaze drop to the man's mouth. "No, there isn't."

"I- Oh, I'm sorry!"

Shane immediately straightened up at the sound of the maid's alarmed voice, letting Bergara slide out from under him. He turned to look at her, an easy smile on his face as he slyly scooped the gun off the table, tucking it into the back of his belt. She looked almost as red as Bergara did, her eyes wide.

"It's no problem, we were just having a little talk." Shane brushed past her into the lounge, as casually as if out for a morning stroll. "Man-to-man, as you probably noticed."

He didn't look back as he moved into the almost empty lounge. The only people who remained seemed to be the Miscellaneous. No doctors, no staff, no Ness, no Norris. Where the hell was everyone? He glanced around for any sign of anyone. Hmm. He took the seat that Ness had been in, picking up the book that had been abandoned there. _The Claverton Affair_. He opened it, lifting it to hide his face, his eyes following Bergara as the man crossed the lounge towards the foyer. The man seemed in a bit of a rush, only sparing him a disapproving glance as he passed. He paused at the exit to look both ways before vanishing out into the hotel with all the hurry of someone late to a very important event.

Shane lowered the book, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Where the hell was everyone going? He felt just a tiny bit left out. And he didn't like that feeling. Not at all.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if the real Esther Pepitone and Elizabeth Short ever wondered if they’d have a 20 year old Irish girl trying to decide whether or not to make them romantically involved in a noir murder mystery story but here we are


	4. Let's Misbehave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There's something wild_  
>  _About you, child,_  
>  _That's so contagious,_  
>  _Let's be outrageous,_  
>  _Let's misbehave!"_  
>  \- Cole Porter, 1928

_"Why do they call you that?"_

_"Hm?"  
_

_"Why do they call you Dahlia?"_

_"Black Dahlia."_

_"Oh, yeah." Pepitone let the ash from her cigarette float to the floor to rest on the carpet. They had the entire eleventh floor to themselves, so it's not like anyone would complain. "Black Dahlia."_

_"My hair, I guess." They stood in the open fire escape door, the chill breeze blowing in flakes of snow to stick to the dark hair mentioned. "At least they aren't throwing around my real name."_

_"Is that a bad thing?"_

_"It could be. For the future." She shrugged, taking a drag. "I mean, I don't know if I'll stick with what I do forever. It's not exactly fun, although the pay can be good if you get the right guy."_

_Esther pulled a face. "Is it worth it though?"_

_"I don't really have any other option. I'm not a rich lady like you." She smiled fondly at the taller woman. "I've met your types before, but you're the only one I can genuinely say is nice."_

_"I married up," replied Esther simply, letting the cigarette hang from her mouth as she adjusted her hair. She didn't even smoke that much, but she'd started to like Short's company. The view from their floor wasn't exactly unpleasant either; the elegant rooms across the way, the snow resting along the carved stone of the building, the sweeping courtyard far below. "Mikey looked after me. Gave me what I wanted, whenever I asked. He was kind. Too bad he got his head bashed in."_

_"That must've been terrible."_

_"It wasn't pleasant, no. But I didn't actually see much of it." She gave a dry laugh. "I was too busy trying not to die myself."_

_"Eesh." Short chucked her cigarette out onto the thick snow that lay on top of the metal steps, Esther following suit. "I can understand why you'd leave New Orleans after that."_

_"No reason to stay. Every reason to leave." She closed the door over, the two of them wandering back down towards their rooms. "I would've stayed if that Mumfre son of a bitch hadn't been on my back about the jewelry."_

_"How long?"_

_"Months." They stopped outside 1147, both simply watching the door. "Those doctors moved the body upstairs, right?"_

_"Yeah." Short turned to look at the blood that still splattered the wall from the gunshot. "How'd you make them think it was his gun?"_

_"Just left it in his hand." Esther averted her eyes from the dark, congealed stains. "I didn't think I'd get away with it, really. Thought they'd click that it was me."_

_"A bit strange alright." Short glanced up at the ceiling, to the twelfth floor, where the doctors had set up some sort of cool-room for the body. "They're all a bit strange, aren't they?"_

_"The doctors?"_

_"The people."_

_"Yeah." Esther moved to her own room, opening the door. "Hey, Dahlia. Can I just ask you something?"_

_Short stopped further down the hall, hugging her coat around her; it was cold in the corridors, always. "Yeah. Sure."_

_She hesitated. "Who was coming out of your room that night?"_

_Short blinked, looking a bit taken aback. "I... I didn't think you saw him."_

_"It was Hodel, wasn't it?" Esther paused, biting on her lip. "Are you in danger?"_

_Short looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe."_

_"Why?"_

_"Let's just say you aren't the only one who was followed here." She went quiet at the sound of footsteps in the stairwell. "Let's just stay low for now. Chat later."_

* * *

_January 3rd, 1939. Midday._

Shane waited for a long moment before opening the door to the corridor. The eleventh floor. He hadn't managed to locate anyone so far, apart from Doctor Lakshmanan on the stairwell. At least he didn't have the other two creepy doctors with him. They just put him on edge, he wasn't too sure why. Shane stood in the doorway to the shadowy stairwell, just listening. He had definitely just heard doors closing. Who was on this floor again? He couldn't remember. Whoever it was had gotten a bit unlucky with the broken elevator; those steps were unnecessarily steep. Or maybe he was just lazy.

Movement at the end of the corridor made him freeze, his hand slipping around the handle of the gun in his belt. Was Norris on this floor? Damn it, he should've checked with the receptionist. Maybe a $50 would make him be a bit less uncooperative. The fire escape door at the very far end of the hall opened just a tiny amount, a bar of white light growing against the wall. Hodel slipped halfway through, pausing when he saw Shane. He looked... nervous. Anxious. Guilty.

"Hello, doctor," called Shane down the hallway, waving a hand.

Hodel was silent for a long moment. "Hello, Mister McClintock."

"Y'know, these stairs here are a bit less treacherous," continued Shane casually, hands on his hips. Everyone seemed to love the damn fire escape; he could hear movement on them almost constantly, hurrying up and down, footsteps tapping ever so lightly on the metal. Maybe he should ask for a room change. "Or is everyone playing some game I'm not in on?"

"I... I just got a bit lost." He still stood with only half his body through the doorway, a hand still holding the door. "You're not going upstairs now, are you? You know that's off limits."

 _Which is exactly why I'm going up_. "Nope, just out for a walk. Stretching the ol' stilts."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Hodel stared at him in silence before slowly receding back out through the door, so slow Shane wasn't sure if he was moving at all. Then the door closed, and the corridor was plunged back into darkness. _What a fuckin' weirdo_. 

Shane continued on upstairs, whistling a tune to himself as he made sure the silencer was still secure on his gun. The whistling echoed in the stairwell, bright and jolly, and very much out of place. Thank God he'd gotten his gun back from Bergara, or else he would've really been in a bit of a pickle. Who knew where Norris was lurking. She always seemed to _lurk_. She couldn't just stand like a normal person. Mm, then again, she wasn't exactly a normal person. Could a normal person almost murder two fully-grown men in an elevator without even breaking a sweat? No. They could not.

There was no carpet on this floor, it seemed. Just smooth, dark wood, his footsteps clacking as he wandered down the twelfth floor. It was bitterly cold, due to almost every window and the fire escape being left wide open. Snow had started gathering in small drifts in some of the rooms, pure and white. 

"Hey! Hey, who's out there?!"

The shout made him freeze, head snapping up. The corridor sure looked abandoned, all the doors to the rooms wide open to let the cold grey light in. It'd be impossible to stay in a room up here. Shane kept the gun by his side as he slowly made his way down towards where he thought he heard the shout. Room 1247.

"If anyone's there, can you please just fucking help me?"

Holy shit. Shane hurried to the doorway, his mouth hanging open in pure delight. "Mister Bergara! How _do_ you do?"

The look on the man's face was as if he'd just been told of a long-time pet's death, his eyes closing. "Nope. No. Not you."

"Well, you've gotten yourself into a bit of trouble here, haven't you?" Shane moved into the room, hugging himself as the icy wind bit into him. The window behind Bergara was wide open, the snow drifting through. Probably to keep the dead body of Joseph Mumfre from decomposing on the bed next to them. "Yikes. What a sight."

"Just- Just cut me down, would you?" Bergara stood on his tip-toes with his wrists bound to the curtain rod, fists clenched. His teeth were chattering, audible even from across the room. "It's freezing and that body is freaking me the fuck out."

"Cut you down?" Shane snorted as he casually wandered around the room, slipping the gun away as he began poking around. A little investigation never hurt. "I don't think so."

"Come _on_ , sir." His wrists were red raw from pulling at the cuffs, his arms burning from being in this position for so long. "It's- It's very important that I get out of here."

"Absolutely not." Shane finally made his way over to him, standing directly in front of the shorter man, so close he had to tilt his head down to look him in the eyes. "You're very annoying to me. I'd like to leave you here to turn into a human ice pop. Goodbye."

"Wait! Wait, Shane, hold on a second." He sounded truly desperate, eyes wide as he watched the taller man stroll away. "I'll- I'll tell you my first name!"

This got his attention. Shane stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heel to raise an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"I will. I'll- I'll tell you who I am." It was as if the words were acid on his tongue. "If you just let me down."

Shane wandered back towards him, hands clasped behind his back. "You see, that is very tempting, but I won't have to worry about any of that if I just leave you here to..." He paused, frowning. "Why _are_ you here, actually?"

"I don't know." He looked highly uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. "Someone hit me. I just woke up here."

"Yeah. Pull the other one."

"No, no, wait! Don't go! Shane, please!"

Biting back a smirk, Shane half-turned to look at him. "Mm. Say that again."

Bergara frowned at him. "What?"

"Say that again." He was openly smiling now as he moved back to stand in front of him. "Except a bit more... breathless. A damsel in distress, if you will."

"No." Bergara shook his head firmly, glaring at him. "No, I'm not doing that. I'll tell you my first name, but I won't do that."

"Do both."

"No!"

"Then adios, bitch." 

"I can help you!" He almost shouted it, his panic palpable.

Shane came to a leisurely halt, keeping his back to him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're running from something, right?" The guy sounded almost relieved that Shane was actually listening. "I have friends. Very powerful friends. Here and back home. I can make your exit from this country a lot, _lot_ quicker than you could ever even hope for."

Shane slowly turned back to look at him, for once not wearing a mocking smile. "And how do I know that's true?"

"You don't." He smiled at him, still looking slightly shaken from their exchange. "But there's no fun without a bit of risk, right?"

Shane gave a wry smile. "Just one condition."

The shorter man nodded eagerly as Shane calmly closed the space between them. "Yeah, anything. Almost anything. Some things."

"Your name."

Bergara gave a flat laugh, halfheartedly rolling his eyes as he turned his head to the side. "Right. You're still on that."

"I was never off it." Shane nonchalantly took him by the jaw, tilting Bergara's head back to see his face more clearly. "It's my only condition. And you're lucky I only have one."

A long silence, Bergara's eyes fixed on his.

"Come on, Bergara." He smiled down at him, almost fondly, letting his thumb brush across the shorter man's lips, which parted ever so slightly as he did so. "You want out of these cuffs, don't you?" He arched a meaningful eyebrow. "Or maybe you don't."

Bergara swallowed, a slight pink-ish tinge to his cheeks. "That's not fair. I'm not giving you my name _and_ helping you."

"Ah, well, the thing is that that's your only option here." Shane searched his eyes intently. "Help would be nice, I'll admit, but I've gotten myself out of many a pickle before."

"Well how about this: I can either be a big help, or an even bigger hindrance." Bergara ignored the feeling of the taller man's fingers on his skin, which was a bit tougher than he'd anticipated. "Your choice."

"You're threatening me." Shane laughed in amusement, distractedly letting his fingers trace down the side of the shorter man's neck. "You're not exactly doing yourself any favors here, Bergara. And that door looks very tempting to me all of a sudden."

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded, wishing he could just wipe the smirk off Shane's face. "Just spit it out."

"I don't know." Shane shrugged nonchalantly. "Beg a little."

"Beg?!"

"Mmhmm. Sing for your supper."

"You are one son of a bitch, you know that?"

Shane smiled at him. "Yeah. I do."

The man was quiet for a long moment, biting down hard on his lip. "Ryan."

"Hm?"

"That's my name." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Ryan."

"Ryan." Shane said the name like it was an intriguing new dish on a menu. "And that's the truth?"

"Yes." 

"Alright." He stepped away, seeing the anxious look flicker across Ryan's face. "Relax, I'm not gonna bail."

"You'll have to..." Ryan's voice trailed off as he watched Shane filter through the various surgery tools lying on the bedside locker until he found something thin enough to jam into the locks. Ryan's eyes widened at the sight of the scalpel. "You know how to do this?"

"There's many things you don't know about me, _Ryan_." He said the name like there was still a chance it was a lie. "Now hold still. Don't want this slipping and going straight into your neck, do we?"

Shane could easily reach the cuffs, sliding the point of the scalpel into the gap between the teeth and the cuff itself. He wiggled it a bit before pausing, brows knitted.

"Stop staring at me."

Ryan glanced away instantly, face reddening. "I wasn't."

"You really don't want to be distracting me right now, Ryan." He didn't take his eyes from the cuffs as he continued edging the scalpel in, grinning. "Could go horribly wrong, and you wouldn't even notice until it's too late." He felt the lock give, the teeth sliding out.

Quick as a flash, he moved before Ryan could, pressing the scalpel against his throat. Ryan stood with his arms out to either side, the handcuffs still hanging off one. He kept his head tilted back, swallowing at the feeling of the sharp metal against his skin. He probably would've been able to move faster if his arms hadn't been so stiff. Damn it.

"Stay right there for me." Shane had his gun out, taking a few steps back, putting some distance between them. He chucked the scalpel onto the carpet in front of Ryan, keeping the gun aimed on him. He felt like he'd just unchained a dancing bear that was very, _very_ sick of dancing. "Do the other one yourself. And do it good and slow."

Ryan slowly got down to one knee, not taking his eyes off Shane's as he picked up the blade. "You're scared of me, are you?"

"I'm not scared of you," replied Shane dryly. "But I'm not stupid either. Now come on."

"Huh?" Ryan let the cuffs fall onto the carpet as he straightened up. "Why-"

"Drop the scalpel, idiot."

Ryan gave a frustrated sigh, reluctantly dropping it. "Fine. There."

"Good boy." Shane grinned at the anger that flashed across the shorter man's face. "Now you're gonna come with me. And we're gonna go down to the elevator on ten. And I'll let you go in the foyer. Deal?"

"I-"

"I'm not actually looking for an answer. You don't have a choice." 

Ryan glared at him, hands involuntarily clenching into fists. "Right. I get it."

"Great! We're on the same page." Shane waved the gun a little. "And in case you haven't noticed, there's a silencer on this, so I won't hesitate if you try anything funny, okay?"

"Yeah. I noticed."

Shane let him walk ahead, keeping the gun pressed into his back as they continued on down the chilly hallway. "You really have no idea how you got up here?"

Ryan seemed irritated, giving him short answers. "Yeah. I dunno."

"Open the door, then." Shane gave him a little nudge forwards with the gun, hearing the irritated 'tut'. "Go on. Be a gentleman."

They made it to eleven. One whole floor. The sound of footsteps echoing in the stairwell made them pause, turning to look at each other. It could just be another guest, but that wasn't exactly a comforting thought anymore. Shane peered over the dark wood railings to see the shoulder and head of none other than Norris. He jumped away, trying to stay as silent as possible as he shoved Ryan through the door to the dim hall of the eleventh floor, ducking behind it. The shorter man seemed to get the message instantly, sticking right beside him, breathing quietly. The wallpaper was damp as they pressed themselves back against it. The footsteps wandered to a stop just on the other side of the door, in an almost curious manner. Shane swallowed, raising the gun, staring at the slowly opening door out of the corner of his eye. Ryan was frozen beside him, eyes wide. The door stayed open for a long moment. She didn't step through, but she'd heard _something_. Shane aimed the gun at the space just in front of the door, the metal slick in his hands. The door finally swung shut as Norris continued on upstairs, seemingly satisfied that nothing sinister was afoot. The squeak of door hinges had never sounded so beautiful. The two men waited for a few minutes longer, until they were sure she was gone.

"Well, _that_ was close." Shane sighed loudly, giving his forehead a theatrical wipe. "What's she doing going up to twelve, anyway? I thought that was off-limits."

The shorter man frowned at him. "What were _you_ doing up there?" 

Shane gave him a sly wink. "Looking for you, of course."

Ryan rolled his eyes, noticing the taller man grin at the exasperated gesture. "I mean, really. You just don't have any filter, do you?"

"It wouldn't be what I'm known for, no."

"And what are you known for?" Ryan turned his head to squint up at the man beside him, the two of them still standing back against the wall. "What do you do?"

Shane raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're using a fake name," began Ryan, counting his suspicions on his fingers as he listed them. "That terrifying woman tries to kill you. You have a silencer for your gun. You know how to unlock handcuffs with a shim. And you almost know how to fight. So-"

Shane scowled at him. "Almost?"

"Almost," repeated Ryan with a wry smile.

"Huh." The taller man raised an eyebrow at the wallpaper across from them, slyly tightening the silencer on his gun. "That's the first time anyone's ever said that to me."

"You're too slow." Ryan shrugged, almost apologetically. "So I'd think twice about using that gun right now."

"Ah, you've found my fatal flaw." Shane turned his head to smile down at him, a lazy gesture. "I never think twice about anything."

He saw the glint of the gun in the low light from the oil lamps. Ryan's hand shot out to block the weapon being raised, the metal cold under his fingers. He felt Shane's arm wrap around his neck in a firm headlock, pulling him upright, ignoring Ryan's muttered curse. Not letting go of his grip on the gun, the shorter man kicked off against the wall, slamming Shane back against the opposite wall hard enough to half-wind him. He reached behind him with his free hand, tangling his fingers in Shane's thick hair, pulling hard.

"Ow!" Shane's arm loosened around his neck as his head was yanked forwards. "You son of a-"

The elbow caught him completely off-guard, in the side, right below the ribs. And fuck, it positively  _stung_ , shooting through his body like an electric shock. Shane doubled over instantly, snarling a curse, the gun dropping to the floor. Ryan didn’t hesitate, spinning to face him, yanking him forwards and driving a knee up into his midriff, forcing the remaining air from his lungs in one violent cough. Shane stumbled forwards against the wall, promptly sliding to the floor. For a long moment, the only sound was Shane struggling for air, on his knees and elbows. His breathing was shallow, erratic. Ryan rolled up his sleeves more firmly, standing over him, waiting.

“Fucking  _hell_.” Shane finally managed to sit upright, a hand still clutching his stomach as he rested his head back against the wall. His eyes were squeezed shut, his voice strained. “Jesus. What the hell  _are_ you?”

“I thought you said you liked a man who could kick your ass.” Ryan picked the gun up off the ground, aiming it at the still-incapacitated Shane. “I hope I lived up to your expectations. Adios, bitch.”

He pulled the trigger - nothing. Ryan frowned, trying again. Still nothing. Just a click. His eyes narrowed as he saw the sly smile spread across Shane’s face.

“If you really think my last words would be about  _you_ , you can think again.” Shane lifted his hand, the ammo cartridge visible in his fingers. “Funny. You can positively kick my ass, but you can’t tell the difference between a loaded gun and an empty one.”

“Hand them over, Shane.” He was livid by now; he just wanted this guy gone already. “Or you’ll see just how easy I went on you.“

Not taking his eyes from Ryan’s, Shane lazily flung the cartridge far down the corridor, hearing it bouncing across the carpet. “Go fetch.”

Ryan promptly grabbed him by the collar, yanking the man halfway off the floor, their faces inches apart. Shane grinned, still slightly breathless from the previous ass-whooping.

"Which limb is your least favorite?" asked Ryan quietly, Shane's hands tight around his wrists. "Actually, don't answer. I want it to be a surprise."

"Ooh, I love surprises." 

"Gentlemen?"

Ryan dropped him instantly, squinting at the two shadowy figures peering around the corner a few feet away. It looked like two women. "...Ms Short?"

"And Ms Pepitone." The owner of this name stepped further into the hall, her skirts swishing around her as she did so. "Is there an issue? Or a reason that you are on our floor?"

"Nope!" Shane used the wall to help push himself to his feet, straightening his shirt and tie. "Just entertaining ourselves. It's getting a bit stagnant around here, don't you think?"

"Mm." Short was still watching them from around the corner, her dark hair shining even in the low light. "Hopefully people won't start getting too restless."

"Sounds like the wind is picking up again, too," said Pepitone casually. "Another storm's brewing. You can see it in the clouds."

Ryan felt Shane's arm slip around his waist, holding him nice and firm against his side as he started walking towards the women. "Oh, we'd best get a look at that. Evening, ladies!"

The shorter man waited until he heard Pepitone and Short close over their doors before shoving Shane away, raising his fists. "You smarmy- Oh my _God!_ "

Shane flinched at the sudden yell, more so than he would've for a punch. "Jesus Christ, man. Calm down."

"Behind you!"

Hesitatingly, and very warily, Shane half-turned his head to catch a glimpse of the splattered blood against the wall. "Fucking Christ."

It was dark and congealed, like someone had dipped a paintbrush in tar and flung it across the wallpaper. Shane backed up beside Ryan, the two of them taking in the bloody view of Joseph Mumfre's last thoughts. Shane narrowed his eyes at it, while Ryan seemed entirely disgusted, his nose wrinkled.

Shane let his thoughts be known quietly, his voice soft. "They said Mumfre killed himself, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Ryan cleared his throat, seeing that Shane didn't seem half as disturbed as he was. "Yeah, they said that. Shot himself."

"Mm. Through the forehead. Bit odd, don't you think?" He turned his back to the bloodied wall, turning his arm to hold his finger-gun against his forehead. "He'd have to hold it like- like this. Weird angle. Through the side is just easier, right?"

"What?" Ryan blinked at him, looking him up and down like he was some strange alien creature. "What are you doing, Shane?"

"Thinking. You should try it some time." He circled the shorter man to stand at Esther's door, Ryan's back now to the blood. "Come a bit closer. Closer. No, not that close. There."

Ryan frowned as the taller man placed the imaginary gun against his forehead. "Hold on. You think that-"

"Shh." He took a fake shot, making the appropriate noise. "Yeah. Yeah, that matches perfectly."

"Are you some sort of detective?" asked Ryan in an equally hushed voice, his eyes suddenly very alarmed. "You with the law?"

"Kind of. Used to be." 

"Used to be?" This seemed to bring him some relief. "Look, you can take your hand away now."

"Oh, sorry. The thought of putting a bullet through your head got me all hot and bothered."

Ryan rolled his eyes, turning away. "You're so funny. Ha ha."

Shane followed him, reaching around him to open the door to the stairwell, returning the shorter man's glare with a small smirk. "Hey, wait up. You do know what I'm implying, don't you?"

"You're implying Pepitone killed Mumfre." Ryan didn't look back as he continued on down the stairs, their whispered voices still seeming just a bit too loud for his liking. "Which would be pretty plausible, if they weren't two strangers in a hotel with zero motive to harm each other. Now, goodbye."

"You don't know that though, do you?"

"No, I don't." He paused on the steps, Shane doing so a few down from him. "But Eliot Ness would've put two and two together pretty quickly, I'm thinking."

Shane frowned, almost irritably. "Well... Yeah. I guess."

Ryan's eyes wandered, brows knitted. "But hold on. You figured out it probably wasn't a suicide in, like, two minutes. So how did not one, not two, but _three_ doctors come to the conclusion that it was?"

Shane looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. "Something sinister's afoot, Mister Bergara. Maybe you need someone to keep you safe and warm tonight, hm?"

"You're just-" He sighed in exasperation, shoulders slumping. "God, you're ridiculous. Now _goodbye_."

The taller man matched him step-for-step, smiling at the slight blush growing across Ryan's cheeks. "I'll walk you to your room."

"You're in the room across from me."

"Two birds, one stone, right?"

They moved along the corridor on the tenth floor in relative silence, sneaking sly looks at each other as they did so. Ryan paused outside 1047, turning to face Shane directly.

"Well, there's your room."

"Mm. Well observed." He placed a hand on the handle, giving Ryan a small nod. "Try not to get kidnapped again. I might not be around to rescue you next time."

"Hey." Ryan let a small smile spread across his face, gazing up at him with a blatant flirty look in his eyes. "I believe you said you'd walk me to _my_ room."

Shane stood with his own door half-open, holding the shorter man's gaze. _So you're not all iron and ice_. "Perhaps you don't need your own one."

Ryan looked him up and down, and took his time with it, absent-mindedly biting his lip as he did so. "Mm. If only."

Shane watched in silence as the shorter man threw a quick look at 1046 before turning away, going the few steps to his own room and unlocking the door. He let his eyes flicker to Shane, who still stood at his half-open door, the cool light from outside falling across his sharp features. Ryan didn't break eye contact as he pushed his own door open, slowly, almost suggestively. Then he was gone, his door closing behind him, leaving Shane to try and slow his thumping heart as he stepped into his own room.

_So many secrets, Mister Bergara. And I'll know them by the time we leave here, I swear._


	5. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Everybody's got the fever,_  
>  _That is something you all know._  
>  _Fever isn't such a new thing,_  
>  _Fever started long ago."_  
>  \- Peggy Lee, 1958
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> The guests get more acquainted with one another, whether they want to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/wyJSc4KlmPA (this is the song that's playing in the bar... if u really wanna get into it... big inspo up in here)

January 3rd, late afternoon. 

 _Roland shot over to the peephole, sighing with relief when he saw it was just Bergara. He unlocked the door, opening it just wide enough to let the shorter man in. It still amazed him, really, that this was_ the _Ryan Bergara. He had always imagined someone a bit more... intimidating, really. But that probably worked to the guy's advantage._

_"So? What's going on out there?" Roland bolted the door, following him across the small room. "Where have you been?"_

_"I'm gonna be honest and say I actually don't know what's going on out there." Ryan sat him down on the chair at the small wooden desk, hurrying to the windows and yanking the curtains closed. The windows only looked out onto the blank white park below, but better safe than sorry. "Just keep your door locked. I think someone knows."_

_"Someone knows?" Roland went to stand up, reluctantly sitting back down as Ryan passed. "About me?"_

_"About_ me _, anyway." Ryan stayed by the door, hands on his hips. "And if they know about me, they probably know about you."_

_"Why do you think that?"_

_"Someone attacked me." He pointed at the side of his head. "Whacked me with something. I don't know what, but I woke up on twelve."_

_"On twelve?! Isn't that where the body is?"_

_"Yep. That's the one." He looked distracted, eyes vacant. "I was tied up. I-"_

_"How'd you get out?"_

_Ryan hesitated, glancing quickly out the peephole before speaking. "I think I could've been wrong. About the guy in 1047. He let me down."_

_"The assassin?"_

_"I don't think he's one. Not anymore." Ryan paused, a pensive look on his face. "He's definitely something, but he's not quite... lethal enough to be an assassin? I don't know."_

_"And the woman?"_

_"Now there's the real threat." He sat against the desk, arms folded. "But she doesn't seem to be after me or you. She's after the guy in 1047."_

_"So what's the issue?"_

_"Mumfre was murdered."_

_Roland blinked in surprise. "But the doctors-"_

_"Lied. For some reason." He seemed agitated, glancing at the door frequently. "I don't know why. They're up to something, no doubt about it."_

_"It seems like everyone is up to something."_

_"Maybe they are." He got up, checking his watch. "Just... don't answer the door unless you're certain it's me. And only let me in if I'm alone."_

_"Yeah. Of course."_

_"And no more midnight adventures, okay?" Ryan headed back to the door, shaking his head as he did so. "Jesus, your dad would have me hung drawn and quartered if anything happened to you."_

_"Alright. No problem." Big problem. Massive problem. "I won't leave my room. Promise."_

_Roland moved back to the windows after the door had closed, pulling open the curtains to let the white light in. The park down below was usually full of life and color, but now it was blanketed with snow, which looked so soft it almost made him want to fall into it. The frozen ponds reminded him just how cold it was, however. He sat on the bed, hands clasped in front of him, staring out the window. He expected he'd be doing a lot of staring into space, so might as well just get used to it._

* * *

_January 3rd, evening._

The elevator let out a light 'ding' as it reached his floor, coming down from above. Ryan frowned; the elevator was supposed to be broken, wasn't it? It wasn't supposed to work past ten. The shutters rattled back, the doors swishing. Well, at least it was empty. He stepped in, turning to hit the button for the foyer. Instead, he almost jumped out of his skin as he saw the Woman relaxing against the set of buttons, shoulder against the wall, hand on her hip.

"Going down?"

He was frozen as she went ahead and hit the button without even waiting for an answer. "Uh- Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"Great." She had altered her appearance again, it seemed; a slinky black evening dress with matching gloves that covered up to her elbows, her hair pinned up on top of her head. How many outfits did this woman have?! "Perhaps we could continue our discussion from earlier, Mister Bergara."

Ryan felt his blood turn to ice, his eyes widening. "How do you- My name's Goldsworth. I'm not- You have me mixed up. With someone else."

"Mm, I don't think so," she replied dismissively, moving to stand beside him, the two of them facing the doors. "You see, I have an offer for you."

"I don't want any offers." He kept his eyes glued to the shiny doors, but he could see her reflection, blatantly watching him. "I don't know who you are, or what you're doing, but I don't want any part of it."

"It's not that kind of deal." Her voice was light, lilting, as if telling a story to a child. "Eliot Ness knows who you are. He's know what you do for a living, and he's not impressed. But, lucky for you, he's not here after you."

"Who's he here after?"

"Mister Madej, of course."

Ryan gave her a sly look. "Who?"

"Oh, Shane. Shane Madej. You know him. Not as well as you’d probably like to, but…”

Ryan ignored the suggestion, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead. “Why is Ness after him?”

“Now, that’s not really your business, Mister Bergara.”

“I don’t see how any of it is my business, to be honest.”

“Let me explain it.” They stepped out of the elevator, into the cavernous foyer. “You’re here on a job, I’m guessing, with the whole fake name and all that.”

Ryan didn't reply, letting the sound of their footsteps fill up the silence instead. The sound of her heels hitting the tiles echoed.

“Now your job isn’t strictly speaking legal, is it?” continued the Woman, turning her head to throw him a raised eyebrow.

“Well…" He hesitated. "No.”

“Then here’s this. You help me and Ness, and we don’t follow up on whatever you’re doing here.”

“Help you?” His voice was dubious, wary.

“With Madej. You  _are_ a hitman, right?” She smiled a dark, lipsticky smile. "Don't answer that. It's a rhetorical question, really."

“Why don’t you just do it?” he replied as they slow to a halt in the lounge. It was seemingly empty, but for the maid waving her duster vaguely at furniture. "You seem perfectly capable, from what I've seen."

“You’re a bit _closer_ to him than I am, I’ve noticed," she smirked, still with a dark eyebrow arched. "You’d be capable of taking him out in a much more subtle fashion, I believe. My methods tend to be quite... How do I put it... Horrifically violent.”

Ryan thought for a moment, looking at her in silence. “And what if I say no?”

“I’m not too sure yet.” She continued on towards the doors to the bar, taking a box of cigarettes out and insouciantly lighting one. “First I have to figure out exactly why you’re here. It’s not to kill anyone, is it? Was it you who helped Mumfre pass peacefully away?”

“No," he replied firmly, following her. "I didn’t do that.”

“I believe you. It was that Pepitone one.” She stopped in the doorway, a gloved hand resting on one of the shutters. “What’re you doing here then? If you’re not here to kill.”

Ryan shook his head. “I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll find out. Unless you do what we want you to do.”

“I-” He paused, giving the offer a considerate amount of thought. If Ness did decide to do something about him and Roland, the entire syndicate could be in major trouble, and the Don would be out for blood. Both his and Ness'. “Do I have to  _kill_ him?”

“Mm, that’d be the ideal outcome.” She pointed at him with the cigarette. "But if you're gonna do it, just do it. Don't try and outwit him; he's a slippery son of a bitch."

 _Oh, I know_. “Just tell me why.”

“I’ll give you one hint.” She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Fugitive.”

Then she wandered off back towards the foyer, the tip of her cigarette glowing like a mini siren light. Shane appeared just as she was passing through the door. He pressed himself against the door frame, eyes wide in alarm, but she barely even gave him a glance. Ryan swiftly turned away, pushing through the doors into the darkness of the bar. God, he hoped Shane hadn't seen them talking. Short had taken up bartender duties again, it appeared, with Pepitone seated up on the counter, gesturing with her martini glass as the two women chatted. Normand, Bang and Cooper had taken up their usual positions beside the record player, flipping through various vinyls, the unwanted ones being chucked over shoulder like trash. The doctors lurked around one table on the opposite side of the room; Hodel's eyes widened at the sight of Ryan, Fear's head promptly snapping up to look, Lakshmanan turning in his chair as well. Ryan pretended he hadn't noticed, taking a seat in one of the more secluded booths. Fear looked like he couldn't swing a bat to save his life. Hodel was a bit too weak-looking as well. But Lakshmanan... He could probably knock someone out if he really wanted to. But how would they know about him and Roland, and why would they care?

Ryan jumped as a glass was placed down in front of him, a golden liquid sliding around inside. Shane slid into the booth beside him, all nonchalance, resting his head on his hand as he looked at him. Ryan stared back, trying to appear just as casual, and evidently failing.

“What did she say to you?” asked Shane almost instantly, his own drink in hand.

“Hm?” 

“Don’t try the innocent act, Ryan. You look nervous.”

“Well I’m not," replied Ryan defensively, turning his eyes back to the drink in front of him.

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Shane leaned forwards, watching the shorter man's face very closely. “And here I was, thinking we were getting friendly. You’re not two-timing me, are you, Bergara? Even after I saved your life?”

“I’m not even one-timing you, Madej,” replied Ryan flatly, giving him a disapproving sidelong glance.

“Not yet.” The smile quickly vanished, a frown appearing on the taller man's face. “Wait. How do you know my second name?”

Ryan paused. “You told me.”

“No I didn’t.” Shane’s eyes were fixed on his, intense. “What did she say to you? What are you? What do you do?”

“None of your business,” snapped Ryan, feeling very flighty indeed. "Leave me alone."

“Spy.”

Ryan sighed in exasperation, leaning back against the cushioned seat. “No.”

“Assassin.”

“No!"

“You hesitated.” Shane kept his voice quiet as he spoke, watching Ryan’s face the entire time. “A contract killer of some kind. Oh, Ryan, you’re making this too easy. Hitman? Ah, there we go.”

“Fuck off.” Ryan went to stand up, feeling Shane’s hand lay on his leg, grip tight. “Let go.”

Shane’s voice was almost shaky as he asked the next question. “You’re here for me?”

He was _scared_. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. “If I was here for you, you’d be dead.” 

“How do I know you’re not toying with me?”

“The way  _you’re_ toying with  _me_?”

“I’m not toying with you, Ryan.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “My intentions may be a bit on the… inappropriate side, but they’re sincere.”

“Lucky for me.”

Shane raised an eyebrow, giving him a small smile. “You have no idea.”

Ryan took a deep breath to steady himself, turning his eyes to his drink. “What’s this?”

“Whatever Short gave me. Now, back to our original discussion. Who are you here for?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“What about a little tit-for-tat, hm? A little give and take.”

“You’re relentless. You really are.”

“You guess at what I do,” said Shane quietly, an arm across the back of Ryan’s seat. “And I’ll tell you if it’s wrong or right. Hot or cold.”

Ryan was silent for a moment, just watching  him. “Thief?”

“Pretty cold.”

“Killer?”

“Bit warmer.”

“Criminal in general?”

“Cold.”

Ryan frowned. “…Contract killer?”

“Cold."

He was getting irritated now, turning in his seat to face Shane more directly. “Detective.”

“Ice cold, baby,” replied Shane in an amused tone, smiling at him.

“Cop?”

“Freezing.” His voice was light, teasing. “Now, my turn. You’re here to kill someone.”

“Cold.”

“It’s something to do with the guy in 1046.”

Ryan could feel Shane’s hand still on his leg, his thumb lightly brushing up and down. “Warmer.”

“But it’s not to kill him…” Shane paused pensively. “Bodyguard?”

Ryan glared at him, very much annoyed that the scales were growing so imbalanced so quickly. “My turn. You’re to do with the law.”

Shane shrugged. “Lukewarm.”

“But you’re a fugitive.”

The smile vanished, Shane’s eyes locked on his. He appeared a bit taken aback, understandably. “Hot.”

So the Woman had been telling the truth. “You’re running from the cops. American cops.”

His response was begrudgingly hesitant. “Very hot.”

“FBI?”

“Cold.”

“CIA?”

“Scalding.” Shane didn’t like the delighted smile on the shorter man’s face. Maybe it was time to wipe it off. “The man in 1046 is a businessman.”

This change in subject didn't exactly please Ryan, his smile faltering. “Lukewarm.”

“A criminal.”

“Also lukewarm, but a bit hotter, maybe.”

“A businessman  _and_ a criminal?” Shane’s eyes widened, a small smile appearing on his face. “Mafia.”

Well fuck. “Yes.”

“Irish.”

“We’re done.” 

"Italian?"

"I said we're done," said Ryan sharply, steadily holding the taller man's gaze. "Game's over."

"So soon?" Shane had his arm resting along the booth behind Ryan, his fingers tapping out a jaunty rhythm on the wood. His other hand still rested on his leg. "I thought we were having fun."

"This isn't my idea of fun."

"And what _is_ your idea of fun?"

Ryan gave him a warning look. "I don't know why you're smiling. You won't like it."

Shane distractedly bit his lip, as if he wasn't even aware. "You'd be surprised."

He took a small sip of his drink, not taking his eyes from the taller man's. "I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"I thought we both agreed that there's no fun without a bit of risk." He felt Shane's hand move ever so slowly up his leg, fingers running along the inside of his thigh. "Makes it all a bit more exciting, don't you think?"

Ryan swallowed, lips parted as the taller man leaned in just that bit closer. Fuck, it was tempting. "Not here."

"Why not?" Shane's breath ghosted against his mouth. "You scared?"

He tried to steady his heart, his head. "...I'm working."

"Mm. Maybe you should play a little."

"That's not how my job works." Unfortunately. "I don't have time to play. I'm a bit preoccupied right now."

Shane shook his head as he leaned back. "You're killing me, Ryan. You really are."

 _I might have to_. "It's the doctors."

Clearly disinterested, Shane took a sip of his drink as he watched Pepitone and Short lazily waltz to the low music coming from the gramophone. "Yeah."

"They're the ones who knocked me out."

"Oh?" The taller man finally looked back to him, picking up his drink as he let his eyes drift past the men in question. "It'd have to be Lakshmanan. The other two look like they couldn't even swing a chopstick."

"That's exactly what I thought." Ryan folded his arms on the table, watching them watching him. "But why?"

"Actually, hold on a second." Shane placed his drink down, getting the shorter man's attention. "When I was going up to twelve, I saw Lakshmanan on the stairwell. And Hodel was lurking too. On eleven, I think."

"On eleven?" Ryan frowned in thought. "But that's just Pepitone and Short, isn't it?"

"Not _just_ Pepitone and Short," corrected Shane, keeping his voice low. "A murderer and a potential accomplice."

Ryan took another sip of his drink as he watched the two women dancing and laughing quietly, moving in slow circles. "They sure don't seem like it."

"Well I wouldn't have pinned you for a mafia hitman," shrugged Shane, ignoring the sharp look Ryan threw at him. "But here we are."

"Don't say that out loud, you idiot."

"Better make sure Ness doesn't get a hold of that little bit of information," said Shane quietly, fortunately not looking at the extremely guilty face on the man beside him. "Or you could be in big trouble."

"You know much about Ness?"

"Nope. Just that I'd like to avoid him, if I can." 

"And the Woman?" asked Ryan, hoping he didn't sound too interested.

Shane turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "A little bit. But nothing matters apart from the fact she's trying to kill me."

"And have you..." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Have you tried to kill her?"

He snorted. "I don't have a death wish, Bergara. Contrary to popular belief."

The doors to the bar were pushed open, with Pike breezing through. He gestured at Cooper to lower the music, which he reluctantly did. Shane threw the receptionist a dark look, sinking lower in his seat like a moody child.

"Good evening, everyone," he smiled, hands clasped behind his back. "Just to let you all know that dinner will be served at nine o'clock sharp in the dining hall. Also, it seems that another storm is starting, so I'd very much advise for everyone to stay inside." He smiled again, a nice big fake one. "For your own safety. Enjoy your evening."

Normand reached over the second Pike had left to raise up the music again, a big grin on her face. She was probably drunk again. All three of them probably were. They tended to just camp out in the bar, surrounding the gramophone, helping themselves to the drink. This was good, however. The presence of the three Miscellaneous almost made the dark, dingy room a place of safety. 

"I'll probably see you around," said Shane distractedly, getting to his feet. "Don't stray too far."

"Hm? Where are you going?"

"To have a little chat with our lovely receptionist."

Ryan watched him leave, pouring the taller man's drink into his own. He felt a tiny bit bad that he'd have to kill the guy, but at the end of the day, Roland was the priority. He was the Don's son, for God's sake. If anything happened to him, if anyone found out about him... Ryan shuddered at the thought. Shane would have to go. Preferably sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, the crash last night fucked me up bro


	6. Right Behind You Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Well, you can fly through the clouds,_  
>  _Sail on the sea,_  
>  _No matter what you do you'll never get away from me_  
>  _Because I'm right behind you, baby."_  
>  \- Ray Smith, 1958
> 
>  
> 
> The guests lurk and watch and listen. Shane and Ryan do a bit more than that.

_January 3rd, 1939. A few minutes before midnight_.

So Norris swapped rooms almost every night, it appeared. Every single night. Yet she always remained on the same floor as Ness. Shane's eyes skimmed the page again as he leaned back in his chair, letting the cigarette in his mouth slowly fizzle without quite inhaling. That smart-ass receptionist had agreed to give him the room numbers of the guests, for a hefty fee, of course. Luckily, Shane had anticipated this, and had swiped a nice fresh fifty bucks from Bergara's pocket while they'd had their little chat in the bar. He knew he should feel bad about it, but he didn't. Ryan's attitude had changed; he rarely held eye contact, his replies were short, his face troubled. It baffled him, really, how easy the guy's face was to read. For a man in his position, you'd assume that he'd have some control over his facial expressions. He was up to something, or hiding something at least. And the fact he'd been having words with Norris didn't bode well. It wouldn't be unlike her to get someone else to do her dirty work, but why would Bergara agree? Unless she knew something about him, something Ryan must very much want to keep a secret. Shane sighed heavily, kicking his feet up on the desk in front of him as he squinted at the page once again.

His eyes went to the ninth floor. The doctors' floor. But then why the hell would Lakshmanan have been up on twelve? It could've just been to check the body, but it would've been difficult enough to ignore the fact that a very much alive man was handcuffed to the curtain rod in the same room, wouldn't it? But how could he get Lakshmanan alone to find out? And Hodel lurking around eleven was also now even more suspicious. Unfortunately, the doctors basically moved in a pack. It was very annoying. And also just creepy.

The fleeting taps of shoes on metal made him sit upright, turning in his chair to look towards the far window. A section of the fire escape was visible from his room, so close he could probably just open his window to touch it. He pulled back the wispy curtain to look out; just the slick metal steps, and the courtyard below. No sign of anyone. Hm. Maybe he'd just imagined it. Either way, he double-checked the locks on his window, letting the curtain float back into place. Maybe he should check the lock on his door, too. Instead, he found himself hiding the piece of paper with the floor numbers in the drawer in the desk before heading out into the hallway. He was getting a bit sick of just... wandering. Everyone else seemed to be playing some sort of game, the rules of which were seemingly non-existent. His eyes drifted to the door of the room neighboring his. 1046. He stubbed his cigarette out against the wall, letting it drop to the floor as he moved ever closer to the door.

"What are you doing?"

God dammit, he hadn't even heard the door open. He turned his head to look at Ryan across the way, his hand floating over the door handle to 1046. "What am I doing?"

"Yeah. You." The guy didn't seem impressed, a suspicious look on his face as he stood holding his own door open. "There's no one else here, is there?"

"I'm-" He paused, flashing a smile. "So this is a surefire way to get you out of your room, is it?"

Ryan didn't smile back, eyes still narrowed. "Answer the question, Madej."

"Hm?" He'd straightened up, hands on his hips, the dictionary definition of nonchalance. "I'm not doing anything."

"Well go do nothing somewhere else." Ryan didn't close his door, waiting for Shane to leave. "Preferably now."

"It's late." Shane moved to stand in front of the shorter man, one hand propping him up on the door frame, the other still sitting on his hip. "I get a bit restless at night. Don't sleep much."

"That's too bad."

"If only there was some way, some _activity_ , that could help someone fall asleep," said Shane pensively, a mock-thoughtful frown on his face. "Some way to just, you know, really tire someone out."

"Mm." Ryan had his lips pressed into a firm line in an attempt to hide the smile pulling at them. "If only."

"The night is before us, Ryan." He gave him another smooth smile. "And if you want, at dawn we could have a secret behind us."

He heard the shorter man take a deep, quiet breath, eyes fixed on his. "There's already enough secrets in this hotel, I think."

"One more wouldn't hurt."

Ryan closed his eyes, turning his head aside, biting down on his lip. His grip on the door was tight, as if to hold him in place. Shane gave a satisfied smirk, looking down at him, still leaning on the door frame. This was one of the good things about being a fugitive, he decided. You could have some _fun_.

"You really are doing your best to distract me, aren't you?" Ryan shook his head, giving him a playfully disapproving look. "If you must know, now isn't exactly a good time for me. I'm busy."

Shane looked him up and down, an eyebrow raised. "I see. Still dressed for some reason?"

He shrugged in response. "Not tired."

Shane reached out, lightly pinching the shirt on the shorter man's shoulder. "Damp. Why could that be?"

Ryan's smile fell flat as he pulled his shoulder away, silent for a long moment. "Goodnight, Shane."

"You like the snow, hm?" The taller man realized his own grin was gone, and the lovely flirty feeling was now replaced by an unwanted prickling up his spine. "You're not another fire escape enthusiast, are you?"

" _Goodnight_ , Shane," he repeated, placing a hand on Shane's chest and firmly pushing him back a small step. "Now."

Shane gave him a halfhearted salute as he stepped back. "Sir yes sir."

He heard Ryan's door quickly shut as he got to his own door. Why the hell had Bergara been outside? Had that been him on the fire escape? Or someone else? Shane desperately hoped it had been someone else. He let his hand slide off the door handle as he continued on down towards the fire escape, feeling very on edge indeed. What if Ryan had been lying? What if he was in with Norris, just another CIA son of a bitch out to get him? Damn it, Shane. Just check the fire escape, see if anyone else was out there. A few chunks of snow sprinkled the carpet in front of the door. Someone had been through here. And recently.

Glancing back down towards the rooms, Shane pushed open the door, sucking air in through his teeth as the icy wind sliced through him, the wet sleet breezing into his face. A few lights were on in the rooms across the courtyard, windowsills dusted in fresh snow. But Shane only had eyes for the two sets of footprints in the snow in front of him. Two. And relatively fresh, since they were still visible. He half-closed the door behind him as he crouched down to get a closer look, hugging himself to try and keep even remotely warm. Oh God, one was definitely a woman's footprints. Fuck. Bergara and Norris were working together, scheming, at least conniving. He straightened back up again at the sound of the door a level above opening, the snow cascading over the side of the metal flooring as it was pushed back. Shane moved back against the frozen railing, gripping it as he leaned back to try and get a better look at who it was.

A lit match illuminated the two faces of Short and Pepitone, lighting their cigarettes respectively. He stayed where he was, teeth clenched to stop them from chattering, the wind ruffling his hair with its icy fingers. He could just about make out what they were saying, their voices relatively low.

"And you're sure you left it on your desk?"

"Oh, most definitely." Pepitone hugged her fur coat more firmly around her, shuffling closer to Short for warmth. "Mike had bought it for me, a few years ago. Real gold."

"Maybe it will turn up."

"I do hope so." She tutted in irritation, taking her cigarette from her mouth. "Oh, it's gone out. Could you light it for me?"

Another match sparked up, floating between them. Pepitone leaned forwards, not taking her eyes from Short's, who appeared thoroughly shaken, either from their proximity or Pepitone's generally pretty face. Maybe both. Then Esther blew out the match with a soft blow.

"You know," said Short as the taller woman gave her cigarette an experimental puff. "In movies and such... when someone blows out a match... it's an invitation to kiss them."

And this was invitation enough. Pepitone leaned down, laying a gentle kiss on the shorter woman's lips. Short pulled her closer, their fur coats becoming one, the two women seemingly oblivious to the positively bitter weather around them. Shane realized he was almost pouting as he turned his gaze away; perhaps he was a tiny bit jealous. How do you find yourself in the right situation with another person who is also in the right situation? Hmm. Perhaps not being a fugitive could be a good start. And a good second step could be not to fall for a guy who is most likely trying to kill you. Well, screw it anyway. He left the two women to themselves, hurrying back to the warmth of the hotel, blissfully unaware of the rushed footsteps as Ryan raced back to his room. And equally unaware of the quiet man just a level below, watching his every move.

* * *

_People never heard him. He was good at not being heard. He was good at moving around, at listening, at watching, all undetected. He always had been. That's why Pennhurst was the way it was. Because Fear lived up to his name. Doctor Jesse Fear kept the asylum in check almost single-handedly. He wasn't sure whether or not he enjoyed it. He just knew that some people held him in very high regard because of the knowledge he could gather as a result of his sneaking._

_He'd seen many things in the past twenty-four hours, that others just didn't notice. He'd heard the whisperings of_ _Pepitone and the Black Dahlia, in the darkest corner of the bar, just two distant voices with two glasses of whiskey on the table in front of them. He'd noticed McClintock and Goldsworth, growing ever closer, getting ever more entangled in each other's business. He'd seen the man from 1046 and her, hiding together, spending the midnight hours in the dining hall to the slow sound of the piano. He knew Normand, Bang and Cooper weren't just drunk every night. They were high as kites, presumably cocaine, as Mabel Normand was unfortunately prone to do. No, the only one who he couldn't seem to grasp a whisper about was Francesca Norris. She could be as quiet as he himself, and seemed to be almost as good at eavesdropping as he was. Their deal was so far effective, but it was brittle, and he could see her growing tired of the promises they made. These storms had better recede quickly, or things may start falling apart faster than anyone could imagine._

_He'd been on his way up to twelve, coat flapping in the wind, when he'd seen McClintock appear a floor above. Fear had shrunk against the wall instantly, pulling his hat down tighter over his head as he observed. McClintock had crouched down, apparently troubled by something on the ground, before straightening up at the sound of the door to eleven being pushed open. Oh, and what an unfortunate revelation. Pepitone and the Black Dahlia, enjoying each other's company very much. Hodel would not be happy about that, not one bit. Then McClintock had vanished back inside, and Fear had waited patiently for the women to do the same, and across the way Ness had observed from behind the curtain, curious at to what exactly was happening on floors nine, ten, and eleven._

* * *

_January 4th, a few minutes after midnight._

Roland hadn't answered the door, meaning he must be asleep. This meant that Ryan was essentially allowed to relax, comforted by the fact that the Don's son was safe in his room for the rest of the night. So here he sat, alone in the lounge, staring into the fire in front of him. It fizzled and sparked, and made his eyes quite dry, but he couldn't seem to look away. He could hear the low music from the bar still playing, along with the occasional stifled giggle. Ah, the three idiots. He wished he could be like they were, simply enjoying the night for what it was. Instead he was pondering how to kill a man who he really just wanted to... not kill. Well, he never really _wanted_ to kill anyone, he wasn't some crazy murderer like his reputation seemed to imply. If the Don felt that a member of his family was threatened, then he'd put Ryan on the case, and Ryan would do the deed. He didn't kill just to kill, he killed to _protect_. Which is what he had to do now. The one thing that made him uncomfortable was how the Woman now had him on a tight leash. No, not the Woman. Francesca Norris.

She'd met him on the fire escape, as agreed, and in a fresh new outfit; suit pants, a maroon turtleneck, a pair of shades on her head for some inexplicable reason, and a tan overcoat draped over her shoulders. Half of him wondered how she managed to fit all these outfits into her room. The other half wondered where she got her style inspiration from, because _damn_. She had explained to him how it would go down; Ryan would kill Shane tonight, he would tell her where it had happened, and she would take care of the body. How, he didn't want to ask.

But the whole killing bit was going to be a bit hard. Especially if Madej decided to turn on the charm again. God, he was so _smooth_ , it was infuriating. And it would have to happen within the next few hours, too. Before dawn, anyway. Ryan wasn't exactly sure what Norris would do if he didn't do it, but it'd probably have something to do with Roland, and that could _not_ happen. No way. Nope.

The single note from a piano echoed through the room. Ryan sat upright, frowning at the doors to the dining room. One was half-open, as it always seemed to be. The piano was in there, right? A few more notes rang out, low, lulling, sultry. It was a pleasant melody, no doubt, but who the hell would be playing the piano at this time? He got to his feet, double-checking his gun was still in his belt as he quietly made his way towards the doors. The matching wail of a clarinet from the foyer made him jump, closing his eyes as he tried to slow his racing heart. It was just the stupid receptionist. He was always cleaning that clarinet, legs kicked up on the desk in front of him, whistling a jolly tune. He had the same cocksure attitude as Madej did himself, actually, which was probably why Shane disliked him so much. He was, however, pretty good at the clarinet. It played off the piano smoothly as Ryan edged towards the dining hall doors, peering in.

Son of a _bitch_. It was Roland and the maid, Soptic. Ryan's eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the woman lazily playing the piano, Roland right beside her, staring at her gushingly. _That's_ why he'd been out last night. To see her. Usually, this wouldn't be important. But, as luck would have it, Roland was engaged. Engaged, for God's sake. To a young woman from a rival family, and it was very, _very_ important that it went smoothly. Ryan hesitated, wondering if he should go in, cuss them out, tell Roland that what he was doing was ridiculously stupid. But what if he caused a scene? What if someone heard, or even worse, saw? Stupid, reckless, foolish little-

"Snooping, are you?"

Ryan spun around, letting out a deep sigh when he saw it was just Shane. "Jesus fucking- What are you doing, Madej?"

"I just came down for a drink," said Shane with a shrug, standing barely a foot away. For someone of his stature, he was surprisingly quiet. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Nothing." The answer was a bit too quick, even to him. "Just... The piano. I like it."

"Oh?" Shane moved sideways, peering over his head. "Who's playing it? It's very nice."

"No one." Ryan pushed the door over with his elbow, not moving, guarding the secret that lay just inside. "Just- Just the bellboy."

Shane smiled down at him, an eyebrow raised. "You dance?"

"Do I dance?" Ryan gave him a quizzical smile. "Do you?"

"Nope. Not usually." He slipped his hand into the shorter man's, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder.  "But I would with you."

Ryan turned his head aside in an attempt to hide his smile, rolling his eyes as he felt Shane's hand rest on his waist, the other holding Ryan's. "I can't. Right now."

"C'mon, Bergara. A short one, just for me." He tried a few experimental steps, Ryan reluctantly moving with him. "Loosen up a little."

"I can't," replied the shorter man as Shane continued leading them in a slow circle, the piano still floating through the air. "I'd love to, really, I would. But-"

" _Work_ ," finished Shane teasingly, feeling Ryan's hand make its way up to rest on the back of his neck, his fingers warm against his skin. "You deserve a break, in my opinion."

Ryan finally lifted his eyes to look at the taller man, who was already looking at him from under heavy lids. "I don't get a lot of breaks. I wouldn't know what to do with myself, really."

"I'd know what to do with you."

Ryan felt the heat rush to his face, seeing Shane bite back a smile. "You're really something else, aren't you?"

"Mm. I've been told." He let his eyes linger on the shorter man's mouth for a few seconds before looking back into his eyes. "It's quite easy, once you've realized that at any minute, you could just, y'know, die."

"Huh?"

"Oh, you know," he shrugged, seeing the guilty look flash across the shorter man's face. "Someone could just turn around and put a bullet through your skull at any time."

Ryan kept his eyes on the taller man’s, even as he felt Shane’s hand slowly move down his back, towards where his gun was. “Checking for something?”

The hand stopped, pressing into his back, pushing him more firmly against Shane’s body. “Should I be?”

“No.”

“You really are a terrible liar.” Shane winced as the grip on his other hand got a good bit tighter than necessary. “Yep. That hurts.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Shane. I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t  _like_  killing,” said Ryan defensively, the two of them now at a halt, still flush together. “I only do it if someone important to me is in danger. That’s it. I don’t do it for fun.”

“Then why me.” Shane’s eyes were locked with Ryan’s, his hand still pressing into his back, as if to hold him in place. “What have I done.”

“It’s not about that," said Ryan just as sharply. "It’s about what someone else might do.”

“So you kill innocents regularly, do you?”

“No,” snapped Ryan, attempting to pull away. Instead, Shane held onto him, yanking him back in, their faces inches apart. “And you’re definitely not innocent.”

“Maybe not. But you don’t know for sure.”

“I have a hunch.”

“Mm. Is that so.” His hand untucked the back of Ryan’s shirt with a sharp tug, the metal of the gun warm from being against the man’s skin for so long. “So this was for me, was it?”

Ryan tilted his head back to look him in the eye, his hand sliding from Shane’s shoulder to his elbow, grip tight. “Don’t even think about taking it. I swear to God, Madej.”

“Oh, I’m thinking long and hard about it, Bergara.” He felt the shorter man almost adjust himself against him, his entire body tense. “So you were just gonna blow my brains out in the middle of the lounge, were you?”

“No.” Ryan gave him a small smile, his eyes still dark, dangerous. “I was going to wait until… later.”

“Later.” Shane said the word quietly, letting it roll off his tongue, very much aware of what it suggested. “And was it going to be before or after 'later'?”

“Does it matter?”

“A little.”

Ryan waited for a long few seconds before answering. “After.”

Their faces were dangerously close together, noses almost touching, gazes lowered. Shane could feel the shorter man’s breath on his mouth, soft and warm and steady, but this relaxed facade was partially ruined by the fact he could feel Ryan’s racing heartbeat against his chest.

“And it still couldn’t just wait, no?” Shane let his hand slide off the gun, onto the shorter man’s bare skin, hearing Ryan’s breath hitch at the touch. “Until after 'later'.”

“You-” Ryan closed his eyes as Shane’s hand began traveling up his back, fingers running slow circles against his skin.  _Fuck_. “You’re a- You’re a distraction.”He could feel the warmth from the fire against his back as his shirt was hitched up. “I can’t have any distractions.”

“Not even just for one night?” Their faces were touching now, Shane’s gaze still lowered, their lips almost brushing they were so close. “I’ll make it worth it. I promise.”

Ryan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His words were, like his breath, caught in his throat. He gently cupped the taller man’s face, feeling Shane swallow as he slowly drew him in, hearing his shaky inhale. Their lips pressed together in a soft, strong kiss, the two of them letting out trembling sighs of relief. They simultaneously attempted to pull each other closer, Shane steadying the shorter man against him, leaning in as he upped the pressure of the kiss. Ryan matched it instantly, one hand gripping a fistful of Shane’s shirt as their mouths worked against each other, tongues brushing, breathing heavy, hands running free, grabbing, grasping. It swiftly grew fiercer, harder, positively burning with intensity. Ryan let the taller man slip both hands under his shirt, playing up his sides, soft, teasing. Ryan barely gave the man time to breath, aware of nothing but their tongues sliding against each other. Shane let out a low moan right into his mouth, and Ryan forced himself to break off, certain he had never,  _ever_  been so turned on in his entire life. They couldn’t seem to look each other in the eye, mouths still slightly open, touching, as they tried to catch their breath, fingers still digging into the other’s skin. Ryan swallowed before going in for just one more, a deep, hungry kiss, eliciting another desperately quiet moan from the taller man. _Fuck_ , he liked that sound. A lot.

Shane slowly opened his eyes, certain his heart was about to leap out of his chest. And all of a sudden, he really didn't give a fuck if this guy was going to try and literally murder him. He just _wanted_ him. He wanted him bad. Ryan's eyes opened, his gaze drifting up to land on Shane's. He looked like Shane felt; slightly dazed, a little bit wary, and incredibly turned on. Oh God, were they going to do it? Right here? The shorter man's eyes seemed to say so as he began undoing Shane's tie with such urgency he pulled the taller man forwards.

"Ryan?"

"Fucking-" Ryan shoved Shane out of the way, revealing Roland standing halfway out the dining room door. "Oh. Hello. Hi."

Roland stepped out, sans Soptic. "You alright?"

"I'm great!" He flashed him a big smile, Shane keeping his back to the intruder, apparently trying to appear casual as he stared at the blank window. "Just- Can't sleep.What are you doing out?"

"I-" The man flushed, avoiding Ryan's eyes. "Sleepwalking."

"Oh?" Ryan's smile was stiff, his eyes very serious in comparison. "Well, maybe we could discuss your sleepwalking. Now. On the way back upstairs."

He basically sheep-dogged the guy out, throwing a look back over his shoulder as he stepped out through the doors. Shane was watching him, one hand on his hip, the other resting on his mouth in a most troubled manner. Well fuck literally everything. Ryan tuned out Roland's blabbered excuses as they crossed the foyer towards the elevator, Pike still playing away on his clarinet, in a different world entirely. He should've just _shot_ him, for God's sake. Not _kissed_ him. He did the most opposite thing he could've done. And even as he stood in the elevator, Roland still floundering for excuses, he realized his gun was gone from his belt. Swiped.

_You shouldn't have done that, Madej. It'll only make the whole thing more painful than it needs to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cop that _Jewel Robbery_ quote and also a little reference to _Flesh and the Devil_ (lil 1930s movies I watched for reference)


	7. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I tried so not to give in,_  
>  _I said to myself, this affair, it never will go so well_  
>  _But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know damn well_  
>  _That I've got you under my skin."_  
>  \- Al Bowlly, 1936

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gets a _tiny bit_ sexual but not crazy shit

_Tick, tock, tick, tock. He watched his watch._

_There was something brewing in this hotel. The passing of time made him only more certain, and only more paranoid. He knew half of what was going on, but Eliot Ness didn't like only knowing half of something. He knew Francesca was hiding something from him, but he also knew better than to try and pry answers from her. He'd heard about her. Every cop in a relatively high position had heard about her. She was a last resource, the person you turn to when you've truly lost control of a situation. Norris will whip it back into shape, and have it done and dusted in less than forty-eight hours, although her methods could be quite... unorthodox. And so far, she was living up to her reputation._

_She was here for one person, and one person only; Roland T. Owen, the son of the mafia chief. Ness had been trying to get him for a while now, but everywhere he went, that Ryan Bergara was with him. It seemed the Don was trying to get his son out of the country, presumably to vanish, make the Don less vulnerable. So Norris had been called in, and she was playing everyone in this hotel like the cheap kazoos they were._

_She was aiding the doctors by keeping the elevator to twelve 'broken', and doing this by providing the receptionist, Pike, with any valuables she could snatch - Mabel Normand's Rolex, Doctor Lakshmanan's silver cuff-links, Esther Pepitone's gold necklace, and who knows what else. In return, the doctors had to promise that when Roland met his end, they'd pronounce it a suicide, or an unfortunate accident. She was playing Bergara, the only real threat, off Madej, the slippery son of a bitch. Ness had been hoping the two would just kill each other, but if what Cooper had seen was true, then maybe this plan wasn't going quite as smoothly as it was meant to be._

_Ah, yes. Normand, Cooper, and Bang. The celebrity, the idiot, and the dentist. He'd caught them in the bar, lines of white powder on the table, Normand mid-sniff. Usually, Ness would've just cuffed them there and then, sent them away, the end. But with the snow restricting his possibilities, he decided to take a leaf from Norris' book. The three of them could buy their freedom, as long as they provided him with everyone's secrets. You see, as long as the three of them acted drunk or stupid enough, people just acted as if they weren't there. Went about their business, speaking freely, unaware that every word was being sent directly to Ness._

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

_He pulled back the curtain every so slightly. From his room, he could see the full length of the spiral fire escape across the courtyard. Floor nine was the doctors. Ten was Bergara, Madej, and Owen. Eleven was Pepitone and Short. He had his suspicions about Short; a prostitute, most likely. No wonder she kept to herself. The hotel could essentially kick her out if they found out. The doctors were just... strange. But Bergara and Madej were something else entirely._

_With Bergara, Norris was slightly worried, and was right to be. He was, despite his sunshine demeanor, a formidable force. Ness knew all about him; a good guy, pretty honorable, who did bad things, all in the name of loyalty to the Don. And Madej… Well, he had been one of their best spies - smooth, smart, and suave as Bond himself - until it turned out that he was basically two-timing the CIA by allowing crime syndicates to hire him as an _extremely_  talented (suspiciously so) private investigator. For large sums of money, of course. The CIA ex-spy who was less honorable than a mafia hitman. No wonder the two men seemed to get on so... well. A good guy who does bad things, and a bad guy who does good things. Well, used to do._

* * *

_January 3rd, around 4am._

Shane paced his dark room, distractedly rubbing his chin as he thought, the stubble scratching his fingers. Maybe he shouldn't have taken Ryan's gun. Maybe that was just going to make his end a hell of a lot more grisly than it needed to be. He hadn't heard anything from Bergara for the past hour, since their little moment in the lounge. God, the whole thing was... It was a disaster, but it was _fun_. It was _thrilling_. He moved to the window, pulling back the curtain just an inch to catch a glimpse of the outside world. The stupid snow still floated through the air like ash, and across the way Eliot Ness had his head poking out from between his own curtains. Shane quickly stepped away, closing his eyes. He had to relax. Ness wasn't going to murk him from across a courtyard. Right?

The light knocking on his door made him whip around, taking his gun from the desk as he moved to answer it. A quick glance through the peephole showed that it was only the maid. Soptic. Okay, that's good. She wasn't trying to kill him, as far as he knew.

"Do you need fresh towels?" she asked in a bored tone, glancing at her watch.

"Uh... No. Thanks." He leaned out a tiny bit to scope out the corridor; empty. "Bye."

Closing the door, he watched her move on to 1046. She seemed confused for a moment before unlocking the door from the outside. The outside? Who would've locked him in his own room? The room was in total darkness, too. The maid seemed hesitant before stepping in.

He sat on the bed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Would Ryan still kill him? It was hard to tell. The guy had made it very much obvious that he wanted more than what had happened, but did he still feel like that? Shane sure as hell did, but it's hard to just go ahead and fuck someone who could go all _Gone Girl_ halfway through and just slice his throat open. He sighed heavily, pushing the gun underneath the pillow and turning the bedside lamp on. It flooded the room in dim golden light, casting blurred shadows that seemed to move out of the corner of his eye. And he sat. And waited. For something. Anything.

* * *

" _No, Don. I don't want to eat. I'm not hungry. I just had breakfast."_

_Well, that was a lie. Whoever he was on the phone to seemed to put him a bit on edge. And what a phone! He had shown her. It was wireless, which meant it didn't need to be attached to anything. His father, who he simply called 'the Don', had some connections in Dupont who had given him some wireless telephones to test out. It was like magic. Soptic continued giving the darkened room a hurried clean, feeling a bit uncomfortable with Roland still being there. His friend had apparently had some words with him, about her, about him and her. Which was understandable. But she hadn't known he was engaged, for God's sake!_

_"No, I am not hungry." Roland sounded annoyed, or anxious, or both._

_She left in a bit of a rush, stepping out into the corridor at the same time Roland's friend did. He glanced at her, almost looking a tiny bit guilty, before turning and heading to 1047. He knocked on the door loudly, three times. Knock knock knock._

_"Madej."_

_Madej? She rolled her eyes as she headed down towards the elevator. Guy must have the wrong room. McClintock was in 1047._

* * *

Shane answered almost instantly, opening the door wide. There was no point in stalling, he'd decided. If Ryan and Norris wanted him dead, then he was going to die. That was that. He could at least face it with a bit of a brave face. Ryan looked at him in silence for a long moment, as if surprised he'd even answered. 

The taller man arched an expectant eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk."

Shane didn't move from the doorway, suddenly finding it very hard to keep up the nonchalant bravado he was hoping to achieve. "Then talk."

Ryan nodded past him. "Inside."

"Uh, no." He paused. "Here is good."

"Shane." His voice was dry, unimpressed.

"Yes?"

"Go inside."

Shane dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. "So you can just take me out in private? I don't think so, pal."

The shorter man suddenly gave him a sharp shove, stepping into the dimly lit room and closing the door after him. Shane backed away swiftly, eyes wide in alarm, bumping into the bed and falling onto it. He sat back upright, heart thumping, breathing shallow as Ryan moved towards him, like a cat towards a cornered mouse. Except this mouse had a gun hidden under its pillow.

"I wouldn't go through with this if I were you, Ryan." He tried to keep his voice steady, firm. "After you finish with me, Norris will kill you _and_ your friend."

"She said she'd do that if I didn't kill you."

"She'll do it anyway."

"Then I might as well just take the chance and kill you, right?" Ryan paused about a foot away, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. "It's not personal. Really, it isn't."

"It feels a _tiny_ bit personal, I've got to admit. I mean, we're not exactly strangers." Shane slowly moved his hand along the cold covers towards the pillow, underneath which sat a chance at not getting horrifically murdered. "Our little moment in the lounge didn't change your mind, did it?"

"My mind doesn't have anything to do with this. Now shut up, and don't struggle. It'll only make it messy."

"Jesus Christ, Ryan." He could feel the cold metal of the gun under his fingers, as comforting as always. "I thought you just wanted to talk."

"We are talking." 

Shane gave him a slow smile as the guy moved towards him, slowly, calmly. He didn’t appear to be armed, but Shane also knew that he was the kind of guy who didn’t exactly need to be. His fingers slipped around the handle of the gun as Ryan closed the space between them. _Just a bit closer. Come on_. If he was going to shoot him, he couldn't risk missing.

"What about a goodbye present, hm?" Shane raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Make my passing from this world a little bit sweeter."

“Don’t look so scared, Madej.” Firmly but gently, and quite unexpectedly, Ryan slipped a hand behind Shane’s neck, his other on his chest as he brought their faces threateningly close together. “You didn’t strike me as a man who’s easily scared.”

Shane tilted his head back as Ryan got closer, inches away, their noses almost touching. “I’m not.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Good,” repeated Ryan more firmly, placing a knee on the bed beside Shane for balance, his other leg between Shane’s. “I like a man who can take a risk.”

 _Well, mark me down as scared_ and _horny_. Shane closed his eyes, letting the shorter man lean in, pressing their lips together. He didn’t take his hand off the gun, he couldn’t, even as the kiss rapidly deepened, mouths glued together. Ryan wrapped an arm around Shane's neck as he pressed himself forwards against him, the movement increasing the pressure, their mouths moving against each other, breathless. And although Shane found it very difficult to think of anything other than Ryan’s lips on his, their bodies flush together, he was also highly aware of the hand currently travelling down his arm towards the gun he was holding under the pillow. Could be a coincidence, but it was also most definitely not. Did Bergara really think he could distract him with a simple smooch? He'd have to do a hell of a lot more than that to distract him. He let the kiss continue - what? It was good - until he could feel Ryan’s fingers brushing his wrist. And man, did he wish they weren’t about to try and kill each other.

Before Ryan's hand could touch the gun, Shane wrapped his free arm tighter around his waist and swiftly flipped them sideways, taking the gun with him as he did so. Ryan let out a furious curse, fingers tight around Shane’s wrist, holding the gun away. He kept his arm firm around Shane’s neck, legs around his waist before letting himself fall off the bed, forcibly taking Shane with him. They tumbled across the floor, Shane managing to separate himself. He swiftly rolled to one knee, gun raised, but Ryan closed the space with surprising speed, shoving the gun aside with one hand and simultaneously punching Shane hard across the face with the other. Shane heard the gun clatter to the ground as he fell to one side, stunned by the force of the blow. He rolled again, out of Ryan’s reach, pushing himself to his hands and knees. Ryan was already scrambling toward the gun that lay halfway between them. Shane threw himself forwards, flinging an arm out, his fingers landing on the weapon. Then Ryan's knee dropped down on his wrist, forcing a pained yelp from his mouth. He lifted his gaze to see that Ryan was in the middle of pulling his tie off, wrapping an end around each of his fists like a makeshift garrotte.

"Oh come _on_!" Shane gave a strong pull, Ryan's knee staying steady on his wrist. "Really, man?"

"If you don't want to give me the gun, then that's that. Stay still, for fuck's sake!"

Shane's panicked gaze landed on the bundled suit jacket to the right, from the night Ryan had first attacked him, back when he'd only known him as Ricky Goldsworth. And if he remembered correctly, then a certain object should be in that certain bundled jacket. He shoved his hand into it, desperately feeling for it.

"What are you- Fuck!" Ryan threw himself backwards as the knife passed by his neck so close he felt the wind from it. He scrambled backwards as Shane pushed himself forwards, landing heavily on top of him. "You absolute- Okay, okay! Stop!"

Shane smiled down at him, breathing heavily, the blade pressed against Ryan's neck, just under his jaw. "Well, how the tables have turned, hm?"

"You're using my own knife against me." He swallowed, letting out a shaky breath. His heart was racing, whether from the knife against his throat or from the feeling of Shane lying between his legs, he wasn't sure. "That's not fair."

"Technically, I gained ownership when I took it from you." 

Ryan raised his hands to shoulder height, keeping them out to either side, the tie still loosely looped around one of them. "Right. You win, Madej."

"I do win, don't I?" Shane leaned down, keeping the blade in place, his other hand pressed into Ryan's chest for balance. He could feel him breathing deeply, his ribs sliding under his fingers. "Do I get to choose my reward?"

"Your reward is you not getting strangled to death. I think that's enough."

"Mm. I have a better idea." Chucking the knife to the side, he wrapped his hands around both of Ryan's arms, just a bit further down from the shoulder, holding them down. "How about we pick up where we left off?"

Ryan gave a sharp laugh, more of an exhale than anything else. "How have you survived for this long?"

"Oh, I've had my fair share of surviving," said Shane quietly, using his weight to keep the man's arms down against the rough carpet. "Now I think I'd like to have some fun."

"Fun?" His voice was half suspicious, half intrigued.

"If both you and Norris are after me, I'm a dead man." He heard Ryan swallow, his breath ghosting on his lips. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a CIA bitch, Ryan. But I guess you had me fooled."

"I'm not," replied Ryan immediately, holding the taller man's intense gaze. "I didn't want to do this. I still don't. I didn't have a choice."

"Yeah, that's what they all say."

"You don't understand." Ryan gave a sudden burst of struggle, letting his head fall back to the ground once he realized it wasn't going to work. Shane's hands were tight on his arms, pinning them down. "She threatened me. Said she'd kill Roland."

"And so what?"

"If Roland dies, I die."

"Who is he?" Shane still looked suspicious. He inhaled sharply, involuntarily, as he felt the shorter man's hips push against his. "Who _is_ Roland?"

Ryan gave a subtle shake of his head. "I'm not telling you."

"Then you're lying."

"I'm not lying," replied Ryan fiercely, letting his head drop back to the floor as Shane moved his face closer. "You can't know. No one can know."

"Not even me?" Shane gave him a small smile that was interrupted as he bit down on his lip. "And here I was, thinking we'd become a bit more than strangers."

"Well I'm sorry you thought that." 

"Come on, Bergara." He was so close their lips were basically brushing as he talked. He could feel Ryan's breath hot on his mouth, quiet, shaky. "You're killing me."

Ryan closed his eyes, fighting to just _focus_. "Not- Not in the way I was meant to."

"What can I do to make you give me this little secret, hm?" He kept his mouth tantalizingly close, hovering bare centimeters away. "Because I want it. Very, very badly."

"Shane." Fuck, he wished he didn't sound quite so desperate. "I can't. I can't tell you."

"Even just a hint." He heard Ryan swallow, take a deep breath, chest shifting under Shane's as he did so. "A little one."

Ryan shook his head in silence, eyes still closed, the heat of Shane's body overwhelming, weighing down on him. This was the worst. This was the worst outcome he could've imagined. But also the best.

He felt Shane's lips on his, drawing him into an intense kiss, his heart thumping so hard he was almost scared. Their tongues brushed, a drive behind the slick, smooth movements that left his head spinning. And then Shane suddenly broke off, keeping close, tauntingly so.

"What about now?"

"No," said Ryan in a quiet, harsh whisper, his eyes still closed. "No. I _can't_. You don't-"

Shane moved in again, closing the few centimeters, feeling Ryan take a quivering breath as he did so. He let this one linger for only a few seconds longer than the previous before pulling away again, hearing the frustrated exhale as he did so.

"And now?"

Ryan swallowed, shaking his head, still unable to open his eyes, to look at the man on top of him. He'd had answers pried from him before, but nothing had been half as torturous as this. He just had to stay quiet. Stay _quiet_. Stay-

The next kiss swiftly moved down to his neck, running along just under his jaw, eliciting a sharp, almost pained moan from his lips. He could feel nothing but Shane; his hands gripping his arms, his body pressed into his, his mouth working against his neck, tongue playing over his skin. Between the knife and Shane's mouth, he'd rather still have the knife. He could ignore it easier. Jesus, he felt like he was going to explode, or combust into literal flames if this didn't end now. 

"Holy- Holy fuck, I just- I can't- _Fuck_." His voice was trembling, interrupted by his erratic breaths as Shane's mouth meandered along just above his collarbone, deciding to hang around just at the bottom of his throat, tongue leisurely sliding along the small dip. "God, _fuck_ , just-" His fists were clenched as he fought to be able to do _anything_ back, the taller man's hips shifting against his as Shane readjusted his position. "Oh God I'll tell you! I'll _tell_ you god dammit I'll tell you!" He was almost crying out now, managing to move one arm ever so slightly under Shane's hand. "I said I'll tell you!""

And then, thankfully, it stopped. Shane moved back to look directly down at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. His attempt to appear nonchalant was ruined ever so slightly by the flush across his cheeks, the hard glint in his eyes.

"Well what is it, then?" he asked, almost as if he'd forgotten the question.

"He's- He's the son. Of someone very important." He finally opened his eyes, still breathing deep breaths. "Someone- I can't tell you. No, no, wait! Wait wait wait! The Don. He's the Don's son you can't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone, you _can't_."

Shane didn't take his eyes from Ryan's, giving an almost distracted smile. "Okay. That's okay."

Slipping an arm out from under Shane's loosened grip, he wrapped it around the taller man's neck, pulling him down into a positively ferocious kiss. Shane let himself relax on top of him, releasing the other arm as he moved his hands to hold Ryan's head, cupping his face, kissing him back with such fervor it was almost frightening. A hand slipped under his shirt, fingers digging into his skin, harsh, hungry, holding him down against him. Barely taking his mouth from Ryan's, Shane began pulling at the buttons on the shorter man's shirt, tugging them open, making it halfway down his chest before the gunshot rang out.

Their eyes flew open, staring at each other in alarm. Well, it didn't appear that either of them had been shot. Shane sat back on his knees as he heard footsteps pounding down the corridor above, a door slamming. Seconds later the fire escape outside the window rattled wildly as someone flew down at a dangerous speed, the metal steps shaking visibly through the thin curtain on Shane's window. Ryan was propped up on his elbows, gaze glued to the window, eyes wide. A door opened above them, sets of footsteps shuffling, the sound of something heavy falling on the floor.

"What the hell is happening?" asked Shane quietly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling above. 

"I don't know. Oh shit, look!" He suddenly sat upright, pointing at the window, to where two silhouetted pairs of feet were visible running up the steps, kicking snow as they went. "Fucking hell."

Shane watched as Ryan scrambled to his feet, flinging the door open and heading straight to 1046. He knocked loudly, banging his fist against the dark wood.

"Roland?" Another loud bang. "Roland!"

"Come in! Turn on the lights!"

He turned the door handle, scowling. "It's locked, Roland! Open it!"

No response. Ryan sighed heavily; he was either drunk, or with that maid. As long as it was in his room, it was okay, he supposed. It just better not leave his room. Ever.

Shane moved to his door, a frown on his face as Ryan began buttoning up his shirt again, giving up on the last few. "Where are you going?"

"Lounge." He was already halfway down the hall, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'd advise you do the same."

Shane closed over his door, smoothing down his own shirt as he followed. "So does this mean we aren't gonna-"

"Shane." He turned to scowl at him, still pressing the elevator button repeatedly. "Not now."

"Oh come on, Ryan!"

"Not now!"

They stepped into the elevator, seeing that Pepitone and Short were in it already, looking thoroughly shaken. Esther was hugging the shorter woman closely, chin resting on her mane of dark hair, her eyes wide, worried. Shane and Ryan shared a quick look, deciding against asking any questions. It wasn't up to them to solve any potential crimes.

That was up to Eliot Ness, who already awaited the guests down in the lounge.

 


	8. As Time Goes By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Moonlight and love songs_  
>  _Never out of date_ ,  
>  _Hearts full of passion,_  
>  _Jealousy and hate."_  
>  \- Dooley Wilson, 1942

The last gathering of this sort had been about Mumfre. About his 'suicide'. The guests had gathered in the lounge, with clear curiosity and equal fear, which was the natural reaction for the situation at the time. This time around, there were some obvious changes. A change in attitude was evident. The guests trickled into the lounge, reluctantly, anxiously. As if aware that something sinister was afoot. The only people missing were Norris, Fear, and Roland. The guests present stayed away from each other this time, seated at various tables, waiting for Ness to finish consulting with the staff. The biggest change this time around was that no one had actually been shot. 

The gunshot had gone off in the room above his. Shane was certain, and so was Ryan. Ness seemed to accept this, although begrudgingly. Pike then informed him that this was Elizabeth Short's room. When Ness attempted to ask her some questions, she seemed defensive, saying she hadn't been in her room, she had been with Esther in her room across the way. Which was a blatant lie, Shane and Ryan knew. They'd heard the footsteps in her room, the curses. And the person who fled down the fire escape. Slowly, bit by bit, Ness began to piece together was must have happened; an _attempted_ murder. But on whose life?

"Ms Short." He sat down across from the small table her and Esther sat at, next to one of the roaring fires. "Is there anyone in this hotel that you feel threatened by?"

She blinked at this, looking somewhat taken aback. "What?"

"Do you feel in danger here?" he asked again, quietly. "Are you not safe?"

"I-" She shared a quick look with Esther, who nodded firmly. "I don't know. I think I'm fine."

"Tell him, Elizabeth!" urged Esther, placing a reaffirming hand on her arm. "You have to!"

"But-" Short hesitated, feeling Ness' eyes on her. "But what if he tells everyone about what I am?"

"If you don't do it, I will."

Short swallowed, opening her mouth as if to speak. She promptly shut it again, clearly very nervous about saying what Esther wanted her to say. And so Esther did what she said she'd do. She got to her feet, pointing across the room at where Hodel and Lakshmanan sat beside the fire. The guests turned in their seats to follow the point, Hodel's face going pale at this sudden attention.

"He attacked her!" Esther stepped around the table to the center of the floor, still pointing at the befuddled Hodel. "He broke into her room, and he tried to hurt her, so I tried to help her!"

"Did you attempt to shoot Doctor Hodel?" asked Ness, also getting to his feet. "Did you attempt to kill him?"

"I attempted to keep Elizabeth safe." She held his gaze defiantly, hands on her hips. "And I'd do it again if I had to. And I wouldn't miss."

Hodel finally got over the shock of this snitching, also getting to his feet. "Short is a prostitute! She shouldn't even be in this hotel!"

"That has nothing to do with you trying to hurt her," said Ness sharply. "Why were you doing that?"

"He's been following me." Elizabeth joined Esther in the middle of the room, taking her hand and holding it tightly for support. "He's been following me all the way from San Francisco. He's a crazy bastard!"

Shane leaned back in his chair, legs crossed in a figure four, observing the unfolding scene with genuine interest. Ryan noticed movement in the doorway, turning to look as Norris and Fear slid in, Norris looking irritated, Fear looking as bland as always. Norris must've thought the gunshot had been Ryan and Shane, and went to take care of the body with the doctor. And when it wasn't... Norris threw a glare at Ryan, drawing a gloved finger across her throat, leaving a wet red line which she hurriedly wiped away. His eyes widened; blood. Her gloves were soaked with blood. Whose blood? He suddenly felt very, very ill. 

"We could hear you!" The shouting was still going on, Esther stepping in front of Elizabeth as Hodel joined them in the middle of the room. "We could hear you the whole time, you and your disgusting friends doing whatever you're doing with Mumfre's body!"

"That was all just for science, Ms Pepitone!" Lakshmanan looked appropriately sheepish, appearing over the back of his chair. "Just... It was just experiments, but you don't get the opportunity to carry out such experiments every day! The isolation of the hotel provided us with an excuse to not have medical permission, so we just... did it."

"With Mumfre's body, which _you_ kindly gave us, Ms Pepitone." Hodel raised his voice so the rest of the room could hear. "Mumfre didn't kill himself, _you_ shot him! Just as you were going to shoot me, you crazy woman!"

Half the gasps from the rest of the room were sincere. Half were forced. One or two didn't even bother gasping, Ryan and Shane included. They just had to stay out of this as best could; they already had enough people trying to kill them in this room. 

"She killed him in self-defense!" Short gave him a furious look. "He was trying to rob her, he was blackmailing her. And you only know she shot him because you had been trying to get into my room and you _saw_ them."

"And him!" Esther suddenly pointed at Ryan, whose eyes widened at the sudden spotlight fixed on him. "I know he was up there, I heard him calling for help! You were going to do something to him, weren't you?"

" _We_ didn't take him." Lakshmanan shook his head firmly before pointing towards the doorway, at Norris. " _She_ got the receptionist to knock him out and tie him up, and _she_ was going to kill him. Not us."

"Pike?" Ness turned to look at the startled receptionist. "Is this true?"

"I- I don't-" He took off his hat, crumpling it between his hands. "She was bribing me! She was giving me all your valuables and gold and silver and everything!"

The outraged voices rose at this, the clearest being the _'fucking snitch!'_ that Shane decided to throw out. Normand shouted about her Rolex, waving a fierce fist at Pike. The general anger of the guests quickly focused on the receptionist, much to the relief of Esther, Elizabeth, and the doctors.

"Well- Well-" Pike raised his voice, jabbing a finger at Shane, who was enjoying the scene very much from his chair. "He gave me fifty bucks for all your room numbers!"

"What the fuck, man?" Shane shot to his feet, already feeling the glares of the guests turning to him. "That's bullshit, because you probably would've just stolen the fifty bucks instead!"

"Where's Propst?" Ness looked from Pike to the silent Soptic, hands on his hips. "Where's the bellboy?"

"There's an issue with the phone in 1046," replied Pike quickly. "It's off the hook. Propst put it back on, but it's off again."

Ryan's blood went cold, literal ice in his veins. Roland was trying to signal. Roland was trying to tell him something was wrong. And Norris was standing with a small smile on her face, with her black gloves soaked in blood, and why hadn't Roland just come downstairs? Could he not move? 

"I need to check on him." Ryan got to his feet, almost running for the door. "I need to-"

"Sit down, Mr Bergara." Ness blocked his way, giving him a stern look. "Everyone stays in this room, understand?"

"I have to-" And if he thought he couldn't get any more panicked, he was wrong. "How do you know my name?"

"You really think I didn't recognize you immediately, Ryan Bergara?" Ness said the name with open disapproval, pointing back into the room. "Sit. Now."

"Ryan Bergara?" Cooper frowned. "I thought your name was Ricky Goldsworth?" 

"It's clearly a fake name, you idiot," said Bang dryly, hitting him on the arm with the newspaper he was browsing through. "Now just shut up and let this blow over."

Ryan stayed where he was as Propst slipped back into the room, looking ever so slightly paranoid. The bellboy mumbled something quietly to Norris, who raised her eyebrows in response before giving Fear a sly nod.

"What?" Ryan stepped forwards, looking at the pale face of the bellboy. "What is it? Is Roland okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine." Propst shrugged. "The lights were off. He's just lying on the bed, on some _very_ stained sheets. Looked like chocolate. I think he's drunk or something."

Chocolate? Oh God, that could only be one thing, and that one thing wasn't chocolate. "Ness, you have to let me go and check on him. Please!"

"I know you're meant to be guarding him, but I don't give a shit," said Ness firmly. "You're both criminals. Now get back in the room before I make you."

Shane grabbed Ryan by the arm, pulling him back, muttering in his ear. "Ryan, stop. He's probably fine. He's safer up there than he'd be down here."

"He's not," mumbled Ryan, allowing himself to be lead back into the room. "He's not, I know he's not. He needs me. I need to-"

"What you need to do is stay in here," said Shane quietly, glancing over his head at Norris, who gave him a bright smile. "Because if Roland is dead, it's either you or me who's next. Most likely both."

The rest of the guests were still arguing, voices raised, tempers flaring, as Ness tried his best to get everyone to relax. Which was a futile task, he was beginning to notice. People were pointing, shouting, cursing, all gathered in the center of the plush red carpet in various stages of dress - half were dressed for bed, some were still in their day clothes, but a few were dressed for the snow (including Hodel, Fear and Norris) which gave away any innocent facades they may try to carry off. Fear had seemingly vanished. And Norris was staying well out of the growing storm, lighting up a cigarette as she joined Shane and Ryan on the outskirts.

"Well, boys," she said casually, bathing in the fierce glares thrown her way. "What a night, hm? What were you two doing in Madej's room, I wonder?"

"Oh, he was trying to kill me," replied Shane just as nonchalantly, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and flicking it into the fire. Not for any particular reason. Just because he could. "Which I'm guessing you persuaded him into doing."

"A little, yes." He turned her sharp eyes to Ryan, arching an eyebrow. "So why's he still alive and kicking, huh?"

Ryan shrugged awkwardly. "I messed up a bit."

"Francesca," said Shane almost pityingly, a very unsympathetic smile on his face. "You've forgotten how persuasive I myself can be."

"Oh, you mean how you fuck your way out of life-threatening situations?" she replied flippantly. "I always thought that was a bit of a shaky thing to build your career on."

"Wait, what?" Ryan glared up at him. "So that's why you've been constantly hitting on me? Oh come _on_ , dude."

"Hey, wait, no." Shane pointed at him, raising an eyebrow. "You've only been trying to kill me for the last few hours. But I've been hitting on you since you got here. Yeah?"

Ryan nodded slowly, eyes still narrowed. "Yeah. That's true."

"And I _still_ want to finish what we started. So there you go."

"Oh my God, do you guys _like_ each other now or something?" She laughed loudly, a sound that stuck out quite a lot amid all the shouting. "That's cute and all, but also a bit sad. Because I'm going to kill one or both of you before the snow stops."

Shane and Ryan nodded slowly, as if offered some vaguely interesting deal on the price of a couch. Norris looked from one to the other, eyebrows raised, still smiling brightly.

"Is there any chance," said Shane, hands on his hips as he frowned pensively into space. "That you... don't do that?"

"Uh... No, I'm afraid not," she replied with a shrug. "Any other questions?"

Ryan half-raised his hand for her attention. "Is there any way that you could kill Shane and not me? Because I'm kind of in the middle of something, and-"

"Shut up, Ryan. You little bitch." 

Norris laughed at this, shaking her head almost fondly. "You're funny. I actually think that if you guys weren't what you are and if I wasn't what I am, we'd be pals."

Fear floated up behind her, giving her a light tap on the shoulder with a thin finger. She turned to raise an eyebrow, to which he gave a small nod. Shane and Ryan watched this interaction with equally wary faces, inching closer together.

"Well, I'll see you when I see you," said Norris as she turned away, taking another cigarette from her pocket. "Enjoy your last evening on this good earth."

Before either Shane or Ryan could utter a word, Pike staggered into the room, sickly pale, eyes wide. The guests finally went silent, all as one, eyes glued to him. For a long moment, he just stood in the doorway, panting for breath, the firelight shining off his sweaty face.

"The man in 1046," he gasped, looking like he was about to chuck. "He's- He's dead. He's fucking dead!"

A silence answered him. Ness stepped forwards, looking appropriately stunned. But before he could speak, someone else did.

"God fucking dammit, Shane!" Ryan rounded on the taller man, looking livid. "You distracted me! I fucking knew you'd distract me and now I'm gonna die!"

"Hey, don't blame me!" replied Shane defensively, taking a step back. "You played your part, Ryan! And so did she."

"Sometimes tragedies just happen," said Norris with a shrug from across the group gathered. "Rest in peace Roland T. Owen. You're in a better place now."

"If you're gonna get mad, get mad at her," said Shane sharply, pointing at her. "She's fucking all of us around the place, can't you all see that?"

The group turned to look at her, one by one, puzzled frowns on their faces. Hands raised, Norris pulled her most innocent face.

"Look, ladies and gents," she began, as smooth as always. "There's a few of you I've approached with certain offers, but I'm not out to _get_ anyone. None of _you_ , anyway. Just Madej. Or McClintock, as you probably know him."

"How about we all calm down a little," said Ness loudly, raising a hand for attention. "Doctors, could you please go and check on Owen?"

"Fuck those doctors, man!" Gisle Bang got to his feet, using his newspaper to gesture at them. "I don't trust them, and neither should you, Ness!"

"We told you what we've been hearing," added Normand, earning a warning shake of the head from Ness. "They're performing illegal experiments on Mumfre's body, officer! Don't let them do it again!"

"Wait, what?" Pepitone looked from them to Ness, looking appropriately irritated. "You've been blabbering all our secrets to him?"

"You group of goddamn junkies," said Hodel fiercely. "You should all be thrown out on your asses!"

Cooper stood up, giving the middle finger to the man with a flourish. "Fuck you, rat bastard!"

" _All_ our secrets?" asked Ryan over the growing din, eyes wide. He could see Norris edging closer towards them, Shane shuffling away as she did so. "For real?"

"Oh don't start acting all high and mighty, you literal snake pit," said Bang at the crowd, waving the newspaper. "You're all bad people, and sometimes that's just the way it is."

"You know what?" Pepitone suddenly whipped out her pistol from her skirts, aiming it at Hodel a few feet away. "You're right."

The room exploded with the gunshot, people scrambling over the furniture, glass shattering, chairs tipping over. Ness continued shouting for everyone to stop right now _or else_ , Pepitone still firing rounds in the general direction of the scattering doctors, the cushioned furniture bursting into wood chips and feathers as the bullets followed the men. Her skirts flew out around her as she spun to follow Hodel, hearing Short cheer her on from beside her. Ryan stayed close to the wall as he headed for the nearest exit, flinching as a knife flashed past in front of his face, burying itself up to the hilt in the fireplace. He whipped around, seeing Norris heading towards him through the panicked guests, casually flipping another knife in her hand. Another gunshot went off, a hole blasted in the wall, raising another round of alarmed curses from the guests. Ryan swallowed, watching with wide eyes as Norris quickly closed the space between them.

A metal teapot soared through the air, glinting in the light, hitting her right across the head, sending her stumbling with a yelp. Shane swiftly followed said teapot, quickly scooping her up off the ground and flinging her across the table beside them in one smooth movement.

"Give me that!" shouted Ryan, yanking Shane's tie from around his neck before vaulting over the table after her. "Help me!"

"I will, I- Fucking hell!" Shane stumbled sideways as Pike leaped onto his back, an arm around his neck. "Fuck you, you damn-"

"You son of a bitch bastard, Madej!" Norris stumbled to her feet, still clutching her head. "That damn teapot was full, wasn't it?"

The next few gunshots were rapid, and much louder than Pepitone's, plaster exploding in the ceiling, raining down on the scene below. Everyone froze in their positions - the doctors huddled in the corner, the Miscellaneous cowering under a table, Pike and Shane the last ones moving as Shane quickly toppled to the ground under the receptionist's weight, disappearing behind the furniture with a curse. 

"Everyone, shut the fuck up right now!" Ness was breathing heavily, swinging his gun back and forth across the room. "I have never, ever, in my entire career, met a group of people as inherently stupid and unnecessarily violent as all of you. I won't have it. I will _not_ have it! Doctors, the dining room. Now. Pepitone and Short, the bar. Normand and you two idiots, stay here. Madej and Bergara, foyer. Pike, I want the keys to the doors. _Right now_ , everyone, before I lose my patience."

Slowly, warily, still watching each other, the guests backed out of the lounge, hurriedly shutting the doors behind them, like soldiers barricading themselves into a safe-house. Shane gave Pike an irritated shove as they got back to their feet, Pike giving him one back, like two scuffling schoolchildren. Ness cleared his throat loudly, a hand out for the keys, which Pike promptly handed over.

"Pike, you stay in the foyer," ordered Ness, his voice stern, strict. "Propst, you stay in here. Miss Soptic, go and get Doctor Lakshmanan. He's the least fucking creepy. Bring him up to look at the body, determine the cause of death."

"You know the cause of death," said Shane icily, glancing around for Norris. "It was that bitch, Francesca. She did it."

"It wasn't me!" She appeared from behind the table, wrists bound with Shane's tie. "Not really."

"So you're trying to exclude yourself from his death, are you?" demanded Ryan, moving to stand beside his only ally in the room.

She gave a dry smile. "Categorically."

"Norris, foyer," ordered Ness, growing more and more impatient with every passing second. He whispered in her ear as she passed by. "And no more killing. You've fucked up this time."

The door shut behind them with a dull echo. The foyer seemed extra large, extra empty, the snow visible, stacked halfway up the glass door. The four individuals stood in silence, watching each other closely, warily. The fugitive, the hitman, the assassin, and the receptionist. The door opened again for a split second, Soptic and Lakshmanan giving awkward smiles as they passed through the little group towards the elevator. Then the quiet again, Norris distractedly pulling at the tie around her wrists.

"If you ask me," said Pike into the tense silence. "I shouldn't be in here with you guys. I'm not a criminal."

"Well no one did ask you, you little jerk." Shane glowered at him. "You're lucky I didn't decide to kick your ass in there."

Pike simply stuck his tongue out at him, earning an offended gasp from the taller man. Ryan physically turned Shane away before he could really go off, leading him across to the opposite side of the hall. They had many things to discuss, and not a lot of time to discuss them.


	9. We'll Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We'll meet again,_   
>  _Don't know where,_   
>  _Don't know when,_   
>  _But I know we'll meet again some sunny day._   
>  _Keep smiling through,_   
>  _Just like you always do,_   
>  _Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away."_

_It had been Norris. There was no doubt about it. She'd chosen Fear to accompany her for a reason; although the guy was unnervingly quiet and kept to himself, he had that air of a kid who used to pull wings off flies just for fun. And this sort of curiosity could only get worse when granted a medical license. So Ness had sat, and listened, and feigned shock when Lakshmanan reported to him the state they'd found Roland T. Owen in. Some of it was clear Norris stamps; bound at the wrists and feet, multiple head wounds, blood splattered on various surfaces, the usual unnecessary violence. But then there was the aspects that clearly weren't her, because even though her methods were frequently bloody, she didn't enjoy torture. So the cord and bruising around his neck, and the stab wounds in his chest, the punctured lung, were most likely Fear. But the most astounding thing was that Owen had still been alive when Soptic and Lakshmanan had gone up._

_"I asked him what had happened," said Lakshmanan, keeping his voice low; the Miscellaneous sat nearby, chatting away, but why would anyone trust them now? "He said nobody else was in the room with him. He said he fell."_

_Ness nodded slowly, throwing a quick look at the sobbing Soptic by the doorway. He knew that she'd been seeing Roland. The guy must've lied to avoid her knowing all the grisly details. A stupid decision, but one doesn't exactly think straight with a fractured skull and half the blood gone from your body. Norris had been lucky this time._

_"Thank you, doctor," said Ness, giving his hand a firm shake. "I'll have to do some thinking here."_

_And so when Lakshmanan had gone back to the dining room to join Hodel the stalker and Fear the murderer, he did think. He thought about how to pin the blame on anyone but Norris. The Miscellaneous had been in the bar, he couldn't try to pin it on them. Pepitone, Short and Hodel had been up to dubious activities, but hadn't exactly committed any crimes. They also provided each other with an alibi in that regard. Madej and Bergara couldn't be blamed either; they'd heard the shot, they'd been right under Short's room at the time. The staff had been milling around the place. That only left Fear and Norris, really. Ness sighed heavily, lighting up a cigar as he stared into the fire. Come on, Eliot. Think._

* * *

Ryan sat staring into space, wringing his hands together, his anxiety palpable. Roland was dead. He'd fucked up. Oh God, he'd fucked up. Even thinking about what the Don would do to him had him feeling sick. It would make Roland's death look like a walk in the park. He'd seen what the Don does to his enemies. He'd never helped out, or taken part. He didn't like violence just for the sake of it. But the Don did. The Don really did.

"Stop pacing," he muttered, as Shane wandered back into view again, hands clasped behind his back. "You're annoying me."

"I'm trying to think here, Ryan." He stopped beside him, scowling down at him. "Maybe you could do the same."

"I _am_ thinking."

The taller man watched him for a moment. "You think you're done for, don't you?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Well take this piece of advice from someone who's been in your situation many a time," said Shane with a wry smile. "There's always a way out."

Ryan shook his head, eyes still staring at nothing. "Nope. Not this time."

"Just think about my offer, Ryan."

He finally looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. "You were serious."

"Deadly serious."

"Will you two shut up?" Pike paused in his cleaning of his clarinet, throwing them a dirty look. "Or I actually _will_ untie her and let her do what she wants to do."

"Nah," said Norris before anyone else could reply, slouched in her cushioned chair, her feet kicked up on the one opposite. "Certain privileges of mine have been taken off me. I guess one could say I'm in for a hell of a scolding when I get back home."

"Do you ever stop cleaning that stupid thing?" Shane moved to stand in front of the receptionist's desk, hands on his hips. "I mean, really. You're getting paid to just sit around doing nothing?"

"You bet your sweet ass I am." He gestured at him with the clarinet, an eyebrow raised. "Don't get so jealous, sir. Just because you chose a career in which you could die at any second."

"Stop pointing at me with that stupid thing."

Pike pointed more firmly. "Like this?"

"Yes."

"How about like this?"

"I swear to God I'll snap it right in half, and put the two halves through your damn eyeballs."

Pike paused for a long moment, before raising the clarinet above his head so that it was pointing directly at Shane's face. "What about like this?"

"Give me that," snapped Shane, swiping at the instrument as Pike simply pushed off the desk, his chair spinning slowly as it rolled away.

" _Au revoir, mon chérie,_ " he said, before blasting out a long screech on the clarinet, in a vague tune, watching the clear pain on Shane's face as he did so.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" Shane took his hands off his ears, glaring at him. "Don't make me come over there, I swear to fuck."

Norris was laughing from her chair, throwing a delighted smile at Ryan across the way. "I love that guy. I love him."

Ryan was watching the scene with a barely-suppressed grin, chin resting on his hand. "Hey Shane, doesn't he owe you, like, $70?"

Pike sat upright, his chair trundling to a halt. "No. No, only like, $20."

"Nuh-uh, I gave you $70," said Shane with a raised eyebrow. "I want it back."

"No, wait a second!" Pike stood up, a hand on his hip, pointing at Ryan with the clarinet. "That's not how this works. I gave him what he asked for each time!"

"Not the first time! You only gave me her second name."

"You were being rude," shrugged Pike, plonking himself back down in his chair. "Do they not teach you manners in the 'spy academy', huh?"

"Uh, no, actually." Shane smiled slyly at him. "They do teach us how to kill people, though."

"Shane, come on, dude," said Ryan from his chair, seeing the color drain from Pike's face. "You're scaring him."

"Yeah, I know."

"As if you'd even be able to kill him," said Norris wryly, still slouched in her chair like a student in detention. "You were never the best at the whole fighting bit."

"Nah, I was... oh, what did you call me once?"

She rolled her eyes. "A charming bastard."

"Ah, there it is."

"Well, she's right," added Ryan, gesturing for him to come over as he got to his feet. "Smooth-talker, aren't you?"

"I guess," smiled Shane, slipping an arm around the shorter man's waist, pulling him flush against him. "You don't like it?"

"I want you to go with me on this," muttered Ryan, seeing the confusion flicker across Shane's face at the words. 

Ryan pulled him down into a long kiss, hearing the other two occupants of the room make disgusted sounds almost instantly. 

"Oh, for God's sake," said Norris with a grimace. "Really? Right now?"

Shane continued kissing him back, not sure exactly where Ryan was planning on going with this, but knowing he was going to go with him regardless. He wrapped his arm firmly around Ryan, his other hand cupping the man's face, drawing him in deeper.

"Stop it! God, _ew!_ " Pike threw a scrunched up ball of paper at them, seeing that Norris was now just watching them with raised eyebrows, a cigarette halfway to her mouth. "Get a damn room!"

"Yeah, let's do that," said Ryan breathlessly, pulling Shane towards the corridors, heading for the nearest room. "Come on, quick."

Shane caught the key Pike reluctantly threw at them, opening the door. He felt Ryan's hands on him, pulling him back down to continue their kiss with a very convincing moan. Kicking the door shut after them, Shane maneuvered the shorter man back against the wall, and for a moment it was just them and the dark room, mouths fit together, the sounds of their heavy breathing as they pressed against each other. He frowned as Ryan pulled his hands away from his shirt buttons, breaking off. 

"What?" Shane studied his face closely. "Are we- Why are we in here?"

"To get out, you idiot." Ryan forced himself to step away, crossing to the window. The snow was stacked high, but for now it looked as if it had stopped falling. "Did you actually think we were going to bang? Right now? In this current mess of a situation?"

"Well, the danger makes it hotter!"

"Just help me open this!" 

"You can't lift a window?" asked Shane with a half-smile. "What do you use those arms for, then?"

Ryan threw him a dry look. "Punching people who don't help me lift windows."

"Ah. I see." He paused at Ryan's shoulder, staring out at the thick blanket of snow. "We'll freeze before we've even gotten down the street. Hold on."

Ryan watched him begin to yank open drawers, going for the wardrobe. "But this is- Oh. Wow."

"Thank you, Francesca." Shane threw a furred coat at him, and a wide-brimmed hat. "I was wondering where she kept all her clothes, man. She must have rooms all over the hotel."

"We look ridiculous," grinned Ryan, pulling a scarf up to cover his nose and mouth. 

"We look fashionable, baby." He slotted on sunglasses, pulled on a pair of sealskin gloves. "I feel sexy in so much animal fur. But also awful."

"It's the 1930s. It's okay right now."

They pushed up the stiff window, stepping back as the snow cascaded into the room. They shared a look, one blatantly excited, the other much more anxious. Shane went to clamber out, pausing as he felt the hand grab his wrist.

"Shane, are you sure about this?" Ryan looked up at him, all wide-eyed and nervous. "I'm going to have a hell of a lot of bad people after me. You won't be safe if you stick with me."

Shane looked down at him, not replying as he searched his sincere eyes.

"I mean, if you want to bail," continued Ryan, dropping his gaze. "I understand. I do, I-"

His sentence was cut off as Shane's mouth landed on his, the two of them inhaling deeply, pulling each other close. Shane kept a hand cupping the shorter man's face, brushing a thumb along his cheek, feeling the stubble scratching him. 

"It's you and me, baby," he said quietly, seeing the smile spread across Ryan's face. "It's you and me."

* * *

Norris got to her feet, crossing to the door as she saw the two bundles of fur shuffling through the snow in the distance, one tall, one small. She cracked a grin, raising her cigarette, pausing before taking a drag.

"Bon voyage, you sons of bitches." She laughed to herself, the smoke curling into the air. "Well played."

* * *

 _Two years later. Chicago, Illinois_.

_He still kept track of them. Most of them, anyway. He'd never been on a case half as interesting as those few nights in a hotel in Northern France, during one of the worst snowstorms the region had ever seen. Ness flipped through the files, a cigar hanging from his mouth. Really, he still hadn't found anybody half as downright insane as some of those people. It seemed that everyone had been hiding something, something that had already happened, or something that had been going to happen._

_Mabel Normand's strange appearance in the hotel was quite easily explained when the telephone lines became operational again. William Desmond Taylor had been murdered, shot through the back, in his own apartment, only the morning before her arrival. No wonder she hadn't wanted to give out any autographs. Cooper had swanned out of the hotel and hijacked a damn plane the second he got back to America, in a most spectacular manner. Notes, bombs, bourbon, and two hundred thousand in cash. Until he'd jumped out of the plane and seemingly vanished. Typical._

_Unfortunately, Elizabeth Short had been found horrifically murdered in San Francisco. The details were very much unsettling. Only days after the discovery of her body, he'd received a tear-stained letter from LA._

_'It was him. You know who I am referring to. Please, Ness. Bring her some justice in her life. - EP'_

_And it most like had been Hodel. The evidence against him was beginning to stack up, but Ness could only hope that the cops in San Fran wouldn't be total idiots and just brush it aside. Doctor Fear had returned to Pennhurst, the tales from which were like something from a horror movie. Ness tried to remember the guy's face, the guy's voice. Nothing. He could only picture a head with a murky white cloud for a face, and a voice like the whispering wind. Lakshmanan, on the other hand, had done very well for himself, the only truly normal man out of the three of them. Ness was relieved that at least one of the guests weren't a total madman._

_Speaking of insane people, Norris' contacts had gone cold. He'd asked her to follow up on Gisle Bang, see what he was up to. Then she'd simply disappeared in Bergen, in Norway. Not a word from her for weeks. Very weird for her, but she was probably fine. Hopefully._

_But Madej and Bergara? Ghosts. Sort of. He kept getting photos in the mail of the two of them standing in front of tourist attractions - the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Pyramids of Giza, the Fountain of Neptune in Florence - seeming to be very content in their constant travels. If only he knew how they were getting these letters to him, where they were sending them from. He was very curious, but at the end of the day, they seemed happy together. So what right did he have to start throwing cops after them? Either way, the mafia were probably breathing down their neck every minute of every day. But he had a feeling they could handle it._

_Ness moved to the window of his fifth floor office, staring down at the sun-drenched street below, at the cafes dotted along the road. Chicago. Two years after that whole mess, and he was still glad to be home._  

* * *

 

"It's just nice to be home, don't you think?" Shane linked his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair as he squinted up at the building. "The Motherland."

"Well this technically isn't _my_ home," said Ryan wryly, glancing at him over the paper. "But at least it's America."

"Oh, sorry we couldn't get a flight to LA, sunshine kid." Shane grinned at him. "C'mon, lighten up! Ness might be watching."

Ryan glanced up at the building, looming over the cafe they'd chosen to pop into on such a nice day. "I'd say he hates us. But I also think it's hilarious."

"He's probably just jealous that we're so free while he has to stay cooped up in this police station," shrugged Shane, closing his eyes as he soaked up the sun. "If I was him, I'd want to know where everyone is. I wonder what they're all doing, y'know?"

"They're probably still just being weird."

Shane turned his head to smile at the man. "Isn't it crazy that we know the truth behind the whole murder? The entire country thinks it's unsolved. But we know, Ry! We know what happened!"

"It weirds me out, dude." Ryan went back to the paper, scouring the headlines for any sign of mafia activity. "I think we're good to stay here for a bit. I don't see anything... threatening."

"Nice of Roland's family to sort out the funeral." He watched Ryan's face closely. "But why did they act so shady about it? Why no names?"

"Because of me. Duh." Ryan chucked the paper aside, folding his arms on the table. "If they want to catch me, they can't run around giving away their locations, or their names."

"Which means they're still after you."

"Yeah." Ryan chewed on his lip, looking a tiny bit anxious. "It does."

"Hey, man, listen." Shane placed a hand on his arm, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I've got you."

Ryan let himself give a quiet laugh. "Yeah. You always do."

"Coffee for, uh..." The waiter squinted at the two cups. "Goldsworth and McClintock?"

"Here, thanks!" Shane scooched his chair in closer to the table, clinking his coffee cup off Ryan's. "The boys are finally back in town."

Ryan smiled brightly, still amazed at how a few nights in a hotel can change your life forever. "It's you and me, baby."

"Yeah." Shane gave him a wink. "It's you and me."

 

**Author's Note:**

> just to let y'all know:  
> Esther Pepitone: https://youtu.be/YrMGIqecu0Y?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=775  
> Joseph Mumfre: https://youtu.be/YrMGIqecu0Y?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=1010  
> Esther and Mumfre's story: https://youtu.be/YrMGIqecu0Y?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=1042  
> Gisle Bang: https://youtu.be/H-Ar93KL2V0?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=714  
> Dr Lakshmanan is in the OJ Simpson one (I think?)  
> Elizabeth Short: https://youtu.be/_gM6NG2PN4Q?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=16  
> George Hodel https://youtu.be/_gM6NG2PN4Q?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=227  
> DB Cooper is well yeah  
> Eliot Ness: https://youtu.be/VFR37y1-81M?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=616  
> Dr Fear: https://youtu.be/BuX6-lvUwd0?t=246  
> Mabel Normand: https://youtu.be/runjda4La_4?list=PLYHKNHsbmNs1bnkfO-ZfLSiLyp9e9FafT&t=1049


End file.
